Hello, it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. I’ve had it up to the top of my good Spanx with people telling me that Kerry men are very good-looking. Sure I have a poster here of the Kerry team who won the 2014 All-Ireland and it’s like a warning as to what might happen if you marry your second cousin. It’s time to set the record straight.
Peaky Blinders is back on the television this weekend and we’re holding a special outdoor screening here in downtown Ballydesmond, with free pick ‘n’ mix to attract them out of their primordial slime across the border in Scartaglin. Every time Cillian Murphy comes on the screen, myself and Berna will roar out “look at the eyes on him, you wouldn’t get that in Kerry” and the Scartaglin crowd will have no option but to sit there and stuff their faces with Fizzy Cola Bottles as a consolation.
We’re going to put up a big sign saying “Michael Fassbender my arse” on the county bounds, in case they miss the point, which is always a possibility with that lot. It’s going to be the best night ever in Ballydesmond, which isn’t saying much in fairness because the Wikipedia entry for the place is “At least it isn’t Knocknagree.”
The icing on the cake would be a surprise visit by Roy Keane, I preferred him with the beard. Do you have a number for him at all, tell me?
We're getting addicted on our WhatsApp group. I knew something was up yesterday morning when Bronagh_OwnAPenthouse swapped her profile photo for one taken in 2012 and changed her relationship status to Who Needs Men.
I messaged her, she said my Ken left me because I’m too tired for hot loving after spending 6 hours every evening talking with my bee-atches on WhatsApp. I turned around to tell My Ken about this, until I remembered that he ran off with the au pair because I haven’t lifted my head out of my phone since December 2019, and that was to ask him to send me a text because WhatsApp was down and I was having severe withdrawal symptoms.
Anyway, I’m really upset - how did I let myself get in this mess in my early 40s, even though I look, like, 35?
My Ken isn’t my Ken any more - I had to put the bins out last night onto the Douglas Road, a first time for everything, and didn’t Emer Cronin-Buckley take a sneak photo and post it on Insta with the caption ‘Bin Lady’. I think I need help. Do you know where I could find a hot rich guy who will put out the bins without expecting me to talk to him?
C’mere, what’s the story with putting on a posh accent so that people don’t think you stole a dog. I’m going out with this well posh one that I met on an app called Dating Outside of Your Social Class. She do be away in Dubai this week getting a new chin, so I said I’d look after her dog, Johnny Sexton, that do be his name.
I was walking him down the Marina yesterday in me Liverpool gear when this nobby guy in a sleveless puffy jacket and pink slacks stopped me and said, sorry now old stock, I happen to know that breed starts at 10 grand, could you show me proof of ownership.
The minute I opened my mouth he goes, “The Norrie stole the dog! The Norrie stole the dog”, and there was a crowd around me in no time. I got away eventually but I have to take the gomie dog down there again this weekend. Do you know where I could learn to speak posh in a hurry, to avoid a repeat?
Hey dude, so I was thinking of selling Chicken Kievs out of a horsebox in Ballintemple this weekend to show our solidarity for people in Ukraine and hopefully some meet totally sick hipster babes who want to be with me because of my ironic taste in 1980s bistro classics.
My friend Bryan with a Y said woah, steady on bro, that could look like your making money from other people’s misery and I was like, woah bro, 10% of the proceeds will go towards sending rocket launchers to the Ukrainians.
So like, am I going to look bad here?