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I asked my cleaning lady if she’d waitress for my Christmas drinks thingy next week. There was a slight misunderstanding, and now she thinks I’ve invited her as a guest. Do you think she’d notice if I asked her to put on a maid’s outfit and walk around with a tray of finger food? – Claire, Douglas Road, she’ll be serving the cream of Cork.
Isn’t that a cheap sherry? My posh cousin had a similar problem. She texted her maid, asking if she would be available for her daughter’s christening. The cleaner turned up with her family and a present for the baby. My posh cousin said she could stay as long as she pretended to be the Duchess of Warsaw. The cleaner said she’s from Slovakia, not Poland. My posh cousin said she finds it hard to differentiate between anyone from east of Youghal. The cleaner said that’s a huge insult. I suppose nobody wants to be mistaken for someone from Waterford.
Like totally, hi there. My boyfriend is bringing me home for Christmas to see his parents, they live on a farm just outside Macroom. Is that like even a place? And will they take to a gorgeous, rich bubbly Dublin 4 girl like me? – Clara, Sandymount, I totally own three Mini Coopers.
I partially own a BMW. (I just love these new car leasing deals.) Macroom is the string-of-misery town we use to slow down the Kerry crowd heading for Cork. They’d be in a fierce rush for a bit of civilisation. My guess is a farmer outside Macroom will greet you in the same way as he would a visit from the Revenue. Let’s just say they’d have strong views on the national question in that part of Cork.
And while I hate judging people I haven’t met, my guess is you sound extremely English.
You also probably think that’s a compliment.
How’re oo’ goin’ on? Herself is after falling in with some do-gooders below in Bantry. Anyway, didn’t she arrive home the other night and say she’d signed me up as Santa at a fund-raising yoke for homeless sheepdogs. That’s going to be a long afternoon. Could you recommend an odourless drink that might help ease the pain? — Din Dan Donie, the auld vodka gives me heartburn.
It gave me a socially awkward disease. The less we say about that, the better. Except I still get funny looks in Kinsale. Vodka doesn’t work as a drink on the sly anyway, it just gives off a vague aura of stale booze. People would say Santa smells like the bus in from Coachford.
Why don’t you do what every other Santa in the country does? Put four pints down your throat and half a bottle of Old Spice on your face. Ho Ho Ho, says you, full of festive cheer. And Heineken.
C’mere, the boss at work is after losing her marbles and inviting us out to her mansion in Blackrock for Christmas drinks. Do you think it will be awkward? — Dowcha Donie, Blackpool, she even said we can call her Monica, for one night only.
I’ll let you in on a secret. Monica has just been on the Christmas party season course I give to senior managers in Cork, called How to Feign Interest in Norries. The two main modules are Pretending You Drink Beamish and Letting It Go When They Say ‘I Do Be’. I also train them not to mention they went to Scoil Mhuire or Pres every five minutes. (That part of the course can take up to two days.) My guess is the party will end before midnight. Monica told me she has contract cleaners coming at 9am the next morning to ‘clear out the pong of Norry before Christmas’.
Hey, I’m going to spend a week with the team in our Cork office, because you guys love to party. I’m totally looking forward to this thing called The Twelve Pubs. Is it as awesome as it sounds? — Laura, San Francisco.
It is. Particularly if your lifetime ambition is to have a 21-year-old guy from Thurles puke in your lap and shout “I still think I’m going to score with ya!”
In which case, I’ve finally found someone who has had a worse time on Tinder than myself. I have this tradition at work. It’s called the One Pub of Christmas.
I get a spot by the fire in the pub at lunch time on the Friday before Christmas. I make eyes at the young fella in IT so he’ll keep going up to get the bevvies. I tell him not to get his hopes up, nothing is going to happen. He replies, that what you said last year. The cheek of him.
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