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I am totally going to Skibbereen in West Cork with my bezzies for New Year’s Eve. We’re like going to snog locals and everything. Do you think there is anything we should watch for? — Buttercup, Sandymount, Dublin 4, you’d never guess I was loaded

Everything about you screams working class. I’m always a bit nervous heading out in rural towns on the pull. I find West Cork guys get over-excited when they start flirting with someone who isn’t their cousin. (I was dating a guy from Rosscarbery once. His family tree was like a straight line.)

Still, I envy you heading down there for New Year. The long walks on the beach in the low winter sun, puke coming out your nose because you just can’t handle Southern Comfort, waking up on a couch in a holiday home next to a guy who looked like Matthew McConaughey five hours ago. It’s all coming back to me now.

I’ve been invited to the traditional New Year’s Eve party at my friend’s place in Crookhaven. When it came to the giving everyone a kiss at midnight last year, my friend’s husband slipped me the tongue. I can’t sleep worrying about it. What if he doesn’t lob the gob again this year? — Clodagh, Douglas, he’s so good looking I’ve almost forgotten that he’s a norry.

I hear you. I went out with a sex-god once, even though he was from Tullamore. He asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I said ear-plugs. He said, that’s insulting. Or maybe it was, do you fancy a pizza. I hadn’t a clue what he was saying half the time.

Anyway, your issue. I’d be wary about shifting your friend’s husband in public. It’s not like you’re in Kinsale. And I find people can be very quick to judge in Crookhaven, particularly when they hear you don’t have a yacht.

Ciao. I am dreading going back to work Tuesday, because the Irish people are always asking about my New Year’s resolution. Last year I ended up in front of HR because I told the truth and said I plan to make love to all the women in the marketing department. It was a disaster — the woman in HR was actually quite plain. Can you tell me what to say this year? — Antonio, Milan and Ballincollig, I got designer bikini underpants for Christmas.

Bit of vom in the mouth just thinking about that. The most common New Year resolution in Cork is ‘I’m giving up drink.’ The ‘until I get paid at the end of January’ is silent in that one.

The key is to pretend you are going to give up something that’s incredibly enjoyable. So for 2017, I’m going to stop making borderline racist comments about people from Dungarvan. Which means I only have two days left to point out they make people from Killorglin look like intellectuals. (Imagine!)

How’re oo goin on? The daughter in America got me one of those Amazon Echo yokes for Christmas. It sits there and answers your questions in a female voice. Herself thinks I’m having an affair with a Yank. Do you have idea what this thing is supposed to do? — Ger Mick Ger, drive straight through Drimoleague, as fast as you fecking can.

My Conor gave me one of those as well. When my posh cousin asked me to describe it, I said it’s a like a woman with a foreign accent who does all the dirty work in your life. She said, that sounds like my au pair!

The Amazon Echo is a voice-activated device that will follow simple instructions like tell me the weather and play my favourite song. You must train it to learn your way of speaking, Ger Mick Ger. Because they still haven’t invented a device that can understand “Chrysht almighty, did you see the state of Mick Mike Mickey below at Mass.”

My New Year’s resolution is to reach out to people less fortunate than myself. That’s most of Cork, considering that I live in a giant house in Sunday’s Well. (Is there any chance you could get Examiner property editor Tommy Barker to feature it in the paper? It would drive my sister insane.) Anyway, where in Cork would you go to meet ordinary people? — Jerome, Sunday’s Well, I’m writing from my winter home in Switzerland.

I think I might be best for everyone if you stayed there. I once introduced a chronic snob like yourself to Dowcha Donie, a regular correspondent on these pages from Blackpool. The meeting was about as successful as a soap shop in Listowel.

The snob told Donie it takes his gardener four hours to cut his lawn. Donie said he had a lawnmower like that once and had to get rid of it. Happy New Year!


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