'My little Eabha is the best at kiddie yoga - you'd know she didn't lick that off a stone'

Tell Tina: Ask Audrey's Northside cousin holds court in the agony-aunt column

Ask Audrey has been sorting Cork people out for ages.

Ask Audrey is on a break, recovering from a 'procedure'. Tina, Audrey's third cousin on her mother's side, is from Mayfield and is filling in while she's away. 

When Audrey realised we'd found a relation of hers from the Northside, she needed another week off. She will return on January 14.

Consternation in Blackpool Starbucks this morning. 

Paula called an emergency meeting of the Model Farm Road (MFR) GAA MAs and tried to get Yolanda kicked out as she doesn't actually have a child registered in the club, ergo isn't technically a Ma. Everyone knows the story of how Yolanda first met Barry over the Sheridan cheeses in the Big Dunnes. Love at first sight, apparently, they both went to pick up the same Schnebelhorn, they split it she got the Schnebel - he got the horn. 

She thought she fell on her feet when she saw Barry's mother's house on half an acre in the middle of Bishopstown and didn't the woman drop dead the night of their engagement party (of disappointment, the sister says) so it all worked out, until Yolanda popped out their first child and heir and was told he'd be lining out for The Barrs, not the Town. 

Apparently, Barry went through a rebellious phase when he was 13, which involved smoking rollies at the grotto and signing up as full-forward for the Barrs. Yolanda joined the Bishopstown GAA just for herself, she refuses to travel to Togher after a seven-year-old clung chewing gum in her hair in Lidl. She had to stop going to Mok's for a drink with Barry, because of the 'Here's Hubba Bubba' heckles. 

Anyway, didn't Yolanda find out about the Blackpool Starbucks meeting and in she rocks with her eco-friendly keep cup, orders a Blonde Vanilla Latte, strolls over and announces she'd it on good authority that the official name of the football team was Mothers and Others and if a Killorglin woman with a bald patch doesn't qualify as an Other, nobody does. 

She looked very commanding as she had her county medal over her Helen Steele longline padded jacket, but the effect was diminished a small bit because she must have stepped in dog mess (do ye not have pooper scoopers on the northside or what?) on the way in, so we were all forced to hold our noses looking up at her. Poor Paula's rhinoplasty is still in the look-don't-touch phase so she had no choice but to inhale and agree Yolanda did qualify to play for the team. 

We're back to Btown Costa next week, thank Christ, but from a legal perspective, TIna, is it politically incorrect to call someone an Other?

Ciara (not my real name, the Blackpoolians might troll me on Twitter).

Don't mind the doggie doodoo, I heard there was a bang of Bishopstown bullshit around Blackpool Tuesday morning alright. 

Listen, you're after giving me an idea, I'll get The Glen to set up a mams' football team, I'll call it Mudders and Udders and Yolanda and her county medal can play for us. Problem solved, you're welcome.

Tina, my affair with my younger gentleman continues to cause distress chez moi. I invited my three daughters to Afternoon Tea in Hayfield to officially meet my beau. We didn't get off to a good start, what with the avocado being on the wrong side of ripe and Genevieve deciding to breastfeed just I was getting to my favourite layer, scones and clotted cream. "Must you, dear?" I implored. "The boy is four in February, it's hardly decent." 

"You're one to talk," she shot back but the waitress came along to refill our bubbles and diffused the situation. My lover took himself off to Fitzgerald Park to practice his skateboarding and to allow us some family time. "Isn't he adorbs?" I sighed. "For God's sake, Mother," hissed Genevieve. 

"He looks like he plays keyboard for Green Day, why does he own a beanie at 35, and he is actually wearing the Secret Salsa jeans I gave you for St Brigid's Day?" "All filler, no killer," pipes up my youngest, Loretta, she used to be my favourite. My questions, Tina, where does the WHO get their guidelines for breastfeeding and is it déclassé for my beau to wear my push-up jeans?

Jacqueline, my breasts are in superb shape for a 68-year-old, thank you SMA formula.

Come here, girl, unless you're a 6 or 8-year-old, you shouldn't be hanging around with a gomie on a skateboard. Avril Lavigne is only trotting after ya, we shouted.

Mona, one of the mums in our online Yoga for Exceptional Babies group has not so subtly filled her background with Jo Malone candles for our ten minutes Savasana at the end of class. Savasana means Corpse Pose in Sanskrit Tina, my little Eabha is the best in the class at it, you'd know she didn't lick that off a stone if you knew her father. 

Anyway, we're talking Peony and Blush Suede, we're talking Wild Berry and Bramble, we are talking, Tina, a three-wick goddamn Fresh Fig and Cassis. This cannot stand. We've forgone our IRL meetups because of this Covid carry-on, so my only outlet is setting up my Zoom space to communicate my fabulous taste. What is the actual point of having a Range Rover Sports SVR if I can't arrive in it to our babies' boxercise, their book clubs, their stitch and bitch embroidery lessons? 

I even drove the Rove down to Crookhaven New Year's Day and swivelled it around at the pier a few times, but the place was dotted with slack-jawed blow ins with bad hair in knock-off Dry Robes, it was wasted on them. So Tina, how can I room scape for our next baby yoga sesh to prove to my dearest friends that I'm better than them?

Eve, Sunday's Well, I'm part of the consortium that snapped up BTs and Arnotts.

Do you know what's pure dacent? Get a load of like, really inspirational quotes and frame them. Me mam has a beeeeoootiful 'Love, Laugh, Live, Drink' wooden sculpture in her good room. She has a Stop Trying To Make Everyone Happy You're Not Vodka poster in the kitchen and A Sip Me Baby One More Time print on the fridge. 

She don't do candles though, she do be too locked to remember to blow them out before bed.