I see there are huge rows about building flood walls around Cork City Centre. Do you know if these walls will stop the lower orders from fishing in the river?
— Marjorie, Sundays Well, I’m worn out from barking orders at my gardener
I’m worn out from my gardener too. I don’t know where he gets the energy.
My posh cousin is devastated about the huge wall they’re planning for the river — she thought it was going to run across the bridges as well. (That girl just hates Norries.)
Anyway, I’m delighted to hear that they’re finally going to stop the River Lee bursting its banks.
There’s something disgusting about standing in water that flowed through Macroom.
It’s like being asked to share a handkerchief with someone from Drimoleague.
I checked with my cousin, the engineer, about stopping the Norries from fishing.
He said it would cost 10 grand for materials and €80 million in consultants’ fees, so the government is definitely going to consider it.
How’re oo going on? Herself is getting some very funny emails from a gentleman by the name of Emil in Zurich.
This all started when she put some of her old shoes up on eBay. The bauld Emil is offering five grand a pair, no questions asked. Are shoes very expensive in Switzerland or what like?
— Paul Pat Pele, keep going up the hill outside Skibbereen in second gear
I don’t think he plans to wear them, Paul Pat. The bad news is Emil sounds like a shoe-sniffer. The good news is he likes the whiff off those tights your wife bought in Drinagh Co-Op back in 2007. (Good thing she still has them.)
You’ve basically won the lottery. I happen to know what I’m talking about here. I spent a student exchange year living in Zurich.
That city has the largest number of wealthy perverts per square inch in the world, after Kinsale (Imagine!).
Hey man, I’m in Cork this month, opening an office for my start-up company. We design apps that phone up your employees in the middle of the night and say: “Your job’s been taken by a Chinese robot, dude. You suck!!” It’s so cool. Anyway, what’s with this Patty’s Day thing?
— Aubreyy with two ys, San Francisco
We’re celebrating St Patrick. He banished all the snakes to Britain, where they formed the Conservative Party. (Am I the only one who can hear a hissing sound from Theresa May?)
We have a well-established way now of celebrating the big day.
1pm: Posh Cork comes into town and gets a warm feeling because there are foreign people marching in the parade.
3pm: Posh Cork hurries home because they know what’s coming. 3:10pm. The Norries arrive and start puking on the Grand Parade.
8pm: They’re still puking.
My old boyfriend from college popped up out of the blue, with a saucy Patrick’s Day message on Facebook. It turns out he’s unhappily married to a plump girl from Mullingar and earns 30 grand a year more than my Gary. (It’s amazing what you can find out on LinkedIn.) Anyway, he’s moving back to Cork and is buying a house one level up from the type we could afford in Mount Oval. Do you think I should sleep with him?
— Deirdre, Mount Oval, I believe in getting to the point
So do I. Never believe what you read on LinkedIn. I used it to try and find a wealthy property developer for myself in 2006.
I ended up in a B&B in Millstreet, with a guy who kept wiping his nose on his sleeve.
I have to say, I’m appalled you are attracted to your ex just because he can afford an expensive house in Mount Oval.
I’d say something if it was Lindville in Ballintemple; but seriously they’d let anyone into Mount Oval these days. My posh cousin’s new neighbour drives an Opel!
I’m dreading my niece’s wedding next month. The problem is my daughter’s new boyfriend will be there. I’ve told the rest of my family his name is Brian and he comes from the oldest money in Monkstown. In fact, his name is Colin and his father is a butcher from Passage West. He doesn’t even have a proper 3rd level education (He went to CIT). How do you think I should play this one?
— Marjorie, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned up in a pair of runners
Neither would I, Marjorie.
Anything to get away from you in a hurry. I feel your pain though. I remember the first time I brought my Conor home, having told my parents that he went to Christians.
My mother took one look at his shoes and realised we were talking Coláiste an Spioraid Naoimh (at best). She said he’ll never be able to treat you to the life you deserve.
I said I don’t care, I’m in love. And look at me now, stuck in Ballinlough.
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