Ask Audrey: Will my Jazz Weekend date lose interest when she sees Cork?

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It’s getting fractious on our WhatsApp group, Douglas Road Stunners Who Never Have a Dinner Party Midweek. 

Eva_300QuidBirkenstocks was up to 90 Monday morning with a three-page post on the does and don’ts of a centrepiece for a dinner party in her frankly disappointing Art Deco villa, they’re entertaining the partners in her Ken’s boutique law firm. (Boutique Law Firm = I’m in Trouble with the Revenue on Douglas Road, bit of info for you there.) 

Anyway, buried in Eva’s three-pager were two words — Thursday Night — and there was war over that. 

A poll showed that 63% of the Stunners felt that Thursday Night dinner party is totes northside and a clear sign that you just want it out of the way so you can go to the pub over the weekend and get in a fight in the chipper. 

The rest of us (that’s 37%, Audrey, I know you only went to Christ the King) felt that it doesn’t matter what night you have the dinner party, the important thing is that you clearly got your cutlery in Meadows & Byrne. 

This is splitting the group in two Audrey and there is talk of a splinter group called the Continuity Douglas Road Stunners, which might have people laughing at us. 

So, is it OK to have a dinner party on a Thursday night? 

— Jenni, Douglas Road

I rang the Posh Cousin there and said, would you go to that dinner party? She said, not a chance. I said, because it’s on a Thursday? She said, no, because it’s on the Douglas Road, what do you think I am, a trainee accountant?

C’mere, what’s the story with being a train driver? 

The old doll was looking at the Examiner yesterday on her phone, and she’s shouting, “Get on to Irish Rail there Dowcha Donie, they’re hiring train drivers, 63 grand a year, all you have to do is press a few buttons and mumble messages over the intercom.” 

That’s the job, literally. No more listening to some boss telling me to cover up a tattoo of my nan’s pigeon, or the same shite-talk in the canteen that I’ve been subjected to for the last 14 years. 

I can just sit there, guide the train through the midlands five days a week, thanking God that I don’t have to live in Templemore. 

So I rang Irish Rail and said, listen I’d be interested in your train driver job, and your one said come in for a chat and I said, look, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time, so I have one question — if I’m doing the last trip at night from Dublin to Cork and the train gets cancelled, do I have to stay in Dublin? 

Your one, says, ya, I suppose you would like. And I said in that case I’ll pass. Do you think I am overreacting? 

— Dowcha Donie, Blackpool, never knowingly spent a night in Dublin.

It depends. If they won’t pay for your overnight stay in Dublin, sure that’s your 63 grand gone in one go. #Expensive.

So ya, I’ve been living in London for 5 years now, had to get out of Cork, so small and 2015, ya feelin’ me? 

Anyway, I’m part of this Creative Collective in Peckham now, we’re a group of poets, rappers, poet-rappers and mystics who meet every Monday afternoon over a pub because it’s the only time we can get off from our jobs as baristas. (Not barristers, sorry about that MOTHER.) 

I was reading out my latest haiku this week when this babe interrupted and said, yo, would you bring us to the Cork Jazz Festival? 

Every bone in my body wanted to scream “no, it’s for old people”, except for one bone, the one I call ‘The Guide’, and that bone said, do what she says boy, she’s extremely hot. 

So we’re on a ferry now headed back to the wasteland of my youth, to join 100,000 losers for a weekend of finger-clicking and nodding at music we don’t understand. 

Do you think the babe will lose interest in me when she sees that I’m from this awful place we call Cork, ya? 

— Daave with Two As, Ballintemple and ashamed of it.

Ah, stop. Cork isn’t that bad. Particularly since you moved to London. (You langball.)

Hey. I’ve been married for two years, it’s grand like, he’s never missed a mortgage payment, do you know that kind of a way. 

But ever since he put a ring on my finger, I’ve lost all interest in my husband and who should turn up as a new hire in our office only my ex, Sexy Mex – he loves burritos - and that’s a name he deserves, I’m like a puddle even thinking about him. 

I’ll be devastated if I don’t sleep with him at the Christmas party Audrey, but I don’t want to come across as flaky either because I’ve only been married for two years. 

I wish there were two of me. What do you think I should do? 

— Christine, Mallow (name changed at person’s request.)

Hi Sarah. You don’t mention why it didn’t work out with Sexy Mex. Was it because he insisted on eating burritos in bed and you’d be the one discovering bits of lettuce and hot sauce for weeks afterwards? 

Because if it was, I dated him as well. And I dumped him after two weeks because he was too Speedy Gonzalez. #Premature.