Ask Audrey has been sorting out Cork people for ages
C’mere, what’s the story with everyone going bananas? I do be driven mad here at home from the old doll, who says she can’t sleep because of the full moon. She woke me up in the middle of the night on Tuesday, to tell me that Leo Varadkar appeared in a dream and told her he was putting a tax on sunbeds to strike a blow against the Norries of Cork. Do there be any escape from this madness?
– Dowcha Donie, Blackpool, am I the only one who thinks the new Blind Date is hilarious?
Yes. In fairness, a lot of people have been acting out of character this week. I was actually polite to a man from Cahersiveen. (I said, would you please have a bath?) I’ll have you know that a lot of southsiders use tanning machines. In fact, there is a special setting for sun-beds in Douglas and Blackrock called ‘Just Back from Skiing.’ So tell your old doll that she is just being paranoid. And as we all know, Dowcha Donie, paranoia will destroy ya.
Ciao. I bumped into by best friend’s girlfriend in a pub in Youghal last Saturday night. One thing led to another, and before I knew it we were making sweet love in a taxi. (The driver played ‘Let’s Get it On’ by Marvin Gaye, you Irish are so helpful.) I feel so bad, now that I have betrayed my best friend, seven lovers and two wives. Should I go to confession? – Marco, Venice and Midleton, what are you doing Tuesday between 2pm and 3pm?
Hiding. You are clearly someone with no taste or standards. Seriously, what were you doing in Youghal? The list of things I’d rather do than spend a night in Youghal includes meet up with Vogue Williams and clean a public toilet in Dunmanway. That’s two things. Although it’s probably given Vogue an idea for her next TV show, Talking Down to Bogmen. Hands off Vogue, I thought of it first.
Hello old stock. I was driving back from Baltimore on Tuesday evening after a particularly enjoyable afternoon with a woman who’s well known in local show jumping circles. (Say nothing to Marjorie.) Anyway, I was listening to reports of the Budget, when it struck me there was nothing in there for people with four yachts and their own parking space in Hayfield Manor. Do you agree this is a total disgrace?
– Reggie, Blackrock Road, I’m thinking of moving to Monaco.
Don’t let me stop you. I’d think twice about making the move though. My snobby aunt moved to Monaco from Kinsale last year and found it an awful culture shock; none of the women speak through their noses and they couldn’t care less that her son has his own dental practice in Ballintemple. (Imagine!) The only attention she got was from a 93-year-old billionaire, who asked her back to his yacht for an afternoon of bridge and maybe more. She said I’ve no interest in bridge. He said I just love people from Kinsale.
How’re oo’ goin’ on? Herself is after falling in with a bunch of mediums inside in Dunmanway and didn’t they spend the whole week looking at that video of a ghost in the school above in Deerpark, in Cork. Isn’t it the case now that yours truly has to drive her up to the city to see the bloody thing for herself. Where would be a good place to get a bite to eat, locally?
– Dan Paddy Andy, Drimoleague, I haven’t been in Cork since 1991.
You wouldn’t recognise the place. The only thing that hasn’t changed is your underpants. (You’re allowed to own more than one pair, you know.) I asked my Posh Cousin where’s a good place to eat around Turner’s Cross. She said in your car. (The truth hurts.) I said do you know anything about the ghost? She said it’s definitely not someone from Douglas or Blackrock? I said why. She said because they wouldn’t be seen dead around Deerpark.
I’m still crying after James McClean’s goal for Ireland the other night. It’s not that I’m Welsh or anything (God forbid). The problem is that my son Hugo wants to give up rugby for soccer, get a tattoo saying ‘daycent’ and hang around Tk Maxx. It’s like I’m in a horror movie called Revenge of the Norries. Do you know any way of getting through to him?
– Sarah with a h, Sundays Well, what’s Tk Maxx?
A proper headwreck if you don’t know what you’re looking for. My neighbour tells me Posh Cork is devastated about the rise of Norry Ball. (That’s what they call it.) Apparently all the Moms are talking about it at Munster rugby matches, when they’re not boast-complaining about the cost of this year’s Helly Hansen or having filthy daydreams about Simon Zebo. I said could they not get by with a fantasy about Roy Keane. She said yes, until he opens his mouth and sounds like a bus driver on the 208. Crikey.
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