Tell Tina: I'm off reality TV for Lent, so I'm stirring the pot in the school mums' Whatsapp groups

Ask Audrey's third cousin on her mother's side, Tina, from Mayfield is sorting you all out this week. Audrey's back April 8.

Tell Tina: delivering advice right out of Mayfield

Consternation in Costa again this morning, Tina. I'm living for the drama of these coffee mornings.

Confession time — I've actually given up watching reality TV for Lent, and it's a real sacrifice, so I've been stirring the pot a bit in the School Mums' Whatsapp Groups. 

SMWGs are basically keeping me going at the moment. 

So Marcella put up a question in the Naíonáin Bheaga group asking if anyone had Dotie Dearbhla's geansaí as she came home without it. 

My Fiadh had it rolled up in her bag, but I replied back: 'Ours is missing too! I hope you-know-who isn't at it again.' 

She was straight on to our Whatsapp group for just the girls' mums, asking to meet for coffee to find out who you-know-who is. 

What she doesn't know is I'm hoping to make out that Derbhla stole her own geansaí; something similar happened in season 41 of Survivor. 

Marcella calls her daughter Dotie Derbhla every chance she gets, and believe you me, Tina, that's an oxymoron big time. 

When I said to her this morning, jokingly and in a really nice way, STOP TRYING TO MAKE FETCH HAPPEN, she looked at me blankly over her skimmed unsweetened almond chai latte. 

That really annoyed me, like Mean Girls is the cornerstone of our hilarious back and forth with each other in this group. 

So I shoved the geansaí into her oversized Louis Vuitton messenger bag while she was in the loo, but I'm 99% sure Saoirse's mum spotted me. 

So, my question is, should I set up an alliance with her, or try to blacken her name first so no one will believe her if she says anything? 

— Fiadh's mhamaí, Bishopstown, I have physical withdrawal symptoms from missing Married At First Sight Australia.

My head is wrecked reading that, what are you on about? If you want to set her up, slip a few baggies of Florida Snow into her glove compartment and throw the shades an anonymous phone call. My sister-in-law did that to me twice, we had a good laugh about it. 

My love affair with my young beau is, I fear, coming to a conclusion. He moved out of chez moi in Sunday's Well (the good side of the road) at the weekend, citing an HSE text proclaiming he was a close contact. 

I didn't have my reading specs on so I can't say for sure what was on the phone he waved in front of my face. 

He said he's going to move in with his cousin, when I asked for how long, he said just until Covid is gone. 

I told him I could wear my special mask, but he said it's better to be safe than sorry. 

He's been insisting I wear that blasted mask during our lovemaking sessions since March 2020, a full neck to crown one, with the likeness of someone called Rihanna on it, he said he just happened to have it in his overnight bag and it was for my protection from the virus.

If it works in the bedroom, surely it would work around the house? 

"I'll even wear it on the stairlift," I called to his rapidly departing back, but to no avail. He's gone, I am alone and rather bereft. 

I don't even have my jewels to keep me company as he took them all to get cleaned. 

Do you have any inside information on an exact date Covid may be banished from our fair isle? 

— Jacqueline, my plantar fasciitis has only been exacerbated by all this howdy-doo.

Jesus Jacqueline, he's making a right langer out of you. It's time to move on, and get yourself a fella more in your age bracket — try a cruise. Or a graveyard. Just get your locks changed before you leave.

Two of the mums in our online Yoga for Exceptional Babies group have started a collection to help Ukraine refugees. 

I'm raging I didn't think of it first, so I replied: 'Wouldn't it be great if anyone had a holiday home they could offer these poor displaced souls?' — knowing full well the pair of them have five-bedroom, sea views, private marinas, with enough glass to make Dermot Bannon drop to knees and cry like a baby, gaffs below in Crookhaven. 

You could see the three dots for about 17 minutes on the trot, so I know they were typing and deleting, eventually, a message pinged through with the GoFundMe link, a twirling heart emoji, and a PS saying they've decided not to start a clothes collection as they couldn't ensure they'd get quality merch, and attached a picture of me from a night out FOUR YEARS AGO in a pair of red stilettos and another link to a newspaper article about red high heels landing over in Kyiv. 

The dirty filthy millionaire bitchfaces. 

I'm going to bring them down, Tina, they'll rue the day. 

So, how much should I donate to show I really care, and is it OK to screenshot the donation amount to share on my social media — only in the attempt to encourage others to donate of course. I don't want any praise for it, it's the least I can do. 

— Louise, not my real name, I don't want you praising me on Insta #bekind #solidarity #instagood #karma #bethechange

I have a pair of knock off Christian Louboutin's I got from me mam's buddy down the Coal Quay. Yours for €50, imagine the buzz you'd have on Snapchat with them — paste them onto your frienemy's feet. #cantputapriceonthat