Listen — Ask Audrey: Can I not just get langers and hug your old doll?

They call it all-you-can-drink and stop you at 6 pints, that's discrimination
Listen — Ask Audrey: Can I not just get langers and hug your old doll?

Ask Audrey has been sorting Cork people out for ages.

Hello, it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. Well actually, make that the Côte d'Azur (I beg your pardon) because Berna and myself are on our annual holiday in the old French Riviera. People get a funny look on them when I say we go to the Riviera on our holidays — I can what they’re thinking, ye’re two menopausal women from north Cork, would it not be more in yeer line to take a week in Medjugorje? Well, shag off with your religion, what we want is some warm air on our legs and a hot waiter flirting with us on the seafront, because you know the way the French are, they’d get up on anything. Well, didn’t we get talking to these two gorgeous Dutch fellas yesterday over our bottle of breakfast rosé, the Dutch are good craic if you can stop yourself from laughing at their accent, which is no joke when you’ve poured a bottle of plonk down on top of an empty stomach. Anyway, we’re meeting them for dinner tomorrow night and I don’t like the look of Berna’s one, but my lad would remind you of the other fella from Wham, Andrew was it? My only problem is they’re in their 30s and there is a small voice in the back of my head going, what are two Dutch hunks doing wining and dining a couple of old biddies from Ballydesmond. (Don’t tell Berna I said that, she still thinks she’s 24.) Do you think I should exercise some caution?

— Rosealeen, Ballydesmond 

I rang Straight Talking Sandra and filled her in on your dilemma. I said, where should she look for the right answer? She said, the mirror. #Soz 

Now listen up Paddy. I’ve just come from a meeting of the British establishment, where we all dressed up as slave owners and said don’t knock down my statue you sad leftie, that was all a long time ago, build a bridge named after Lenin and get over it. Bunty Von Sugar Plantation said he’s getting out of London for the summer, it’s full of awful Americans and Chinese types who buy their clothes instead of inheriting them. He said, now listen up Lord Edmund, you should come over to Éire with me, I have this obscene pile outside Mallow and the Micks aren’t a bad lot as long as you buy them a drink and pretend to be sorry about the famine. I never travel abroad without a mistress in tow, that would be just middle class, so I am bringing a minor Slovenian aristocrat along for the ride. (Steady on) I’ve been doing my homework and did a Google street-view of this Mallow and, how do I put this without creating a diplomatic incident, it’s fair to say that Mallow isn’t exactly St Tropez. Is there another town in the area that might be more suitable for people who never run their own baths? 

— Lord Edmund D’Servant-Spanker, London.

You’d be surprised by the number of people who mistake Charleville for Florence. Two. They’ve never been to Florence.

C’mere, what’s the story with Spain? I’m here with the old doll at the moment and we rented a car this time out, which I thought would be the business because every time I get on the bus at the airport there is a family from Dublin roaring their heads off at each other about things they see out the window. “Oh look Mam, look, they have Burger King, wha.” We picked up a little Renault at the airport which I thought would allow us to explore the real Spain, which it does in fairness. But the problem with the real Spain is it’s full of Spaniards and we haven’t a clue what they’re saying. Not a bother says I, we’ll head back to the resort, all you can eat and drink, wey-hey! Except the Spanish brought in a new rule that changed all you can drink to six drinks a day, because English louts do be getting baloobas drunk. I tried to tell them that I’m Irish so a: I can hold my drink and b: the worst I’ll do if I get langers is give your old doll a friendly hug. But they’re not having it and my holiday is ruined. How can I persuade them to give me free drink all day? 

— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool.

I rang Spain there and asked them what’s the story. I couldn’t understand everything the guy said, but the gist of it is his girlfriend doesn’t want a hug, friendly or otherwise.

It’s getting darker on our WhatsApp group, Douglas Road Stunners Who Don’t Look Like They Use Fake Tan. We’re all down in Crookhaven at the moment Audrey, and I believed my bee-atches when they said we’ll go pale and natural this year, it’s all the rage. I turned up porcelain while they looked totes amazing in expensive tan, so I rushed home and got My Ken to rub in some top-of-the-range stuff. Well, didn’t he put his moves on me and I’m like, stop My Ken, no one puts the moves on their wife when they’re rubbing in fake tan. Am I right to call a halt? 

—Jenni, Douglas Road 

You’re dead right. There is only one rule in our house when you’re rubbing on tan — keep the mitten to yourself.

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