Ask Audrey: Things are so bad with my stomach they're calling me 'The Human Rennie'

Sorting out Cork people for ages

Jesus Christ almighty, but my Christmas has been ruined by fecking heartburn

So, I’m just coming out of a really difficult divorce in California and I said to myself, Angelina, go to Ireland, dance in the rain, kiss a handsome man, kiss another handsome man, but not at a swingers party, right, not that kind of gal. One at a time, Angelina, one at a time. We grew up with The Quiet Man in our house, I hated it at the time, you guys had the worst teeth, am I right? But I’m older now and the scenery, oh my God Angelina, I’m going to West Kerry to suck up the scenery. I googled things to do there over Christmas with an eye on finding a man or two and came across this like really cool tradition called Hunting the Wren where people put on masks and straw suits and travel around the town of Dingle and further afield. They say it’s hunting the wren, but my friend told me she did it two years ago and it was more like hunting liver disease, you guys like a drink, right?!! Anyway, I did it Audrey, I went hunting the wren, and now I’m in love with a guy called Mick Mike Seán Mary. Do you think it will last?
  — Angelina, I might move to Dingle, I really might.

I wouldn’t move there Angelina. I’ll admit I was impressed the time I went to Dingle and every second person was in a straw suit. But that was in October – it’s how they always dress.

Oh Jesus I’m after fecking up big time. I couldn’t decide what to get my husband for Christmas so eventually I said come on Ger, we’ll have another baby. He’s a very sentimental man and does close to zero to around the house, so another pooping, puking sprog makes very little difference to him. I’m going to be the one raising the tyke, and I’m not going to sugar the pill Audrey, I hate my kids. Mom this, mom that, zero gratitude, weird American accents from watching too much YouTube, I wish I never bothered. My sister said no way to her husband and they’ve amazing tans from all the mini-breaks by the Med . Anyway, Ger is insisting we (I) have this child ASAP, even though he only gave me a robotic vacuum cleaner. It’s working away in the background here, I find it a bit judgey if I’m honest, as if it’s disgusted with me because I don’t clean my own house. Look Audrey, I’d be lost without my Ger, he’s my soulmate and his mother gives us a thousand euro a month. But is it ok to row back on my offer and get him a robotic lawn-mower instead?
— Ciara, Mitchelstown

I’m determined to follow through with the Christmas present I got for My Conor – a dirty weekend in Parknasilla. He’s going to Kerry and I’ll stay in Cork for the dirty bit. Re-sult.

Hello it’s Rosealeen in Ballydesmond. Jesus Christ almighty, but my Christmas has been ruined by fecking heartburn. Gone are the days when I’d be out on the lash every night between Christmas and New Year, flinging vodka down my throat like some kind of she-wolf on the prowl for bit of festive meat, by which I mean men for the avoidance of any doubt. It wasn’t tea-time on Stephen’s Day and I was still struggling to finish the turkey fritters my bitch of a sister made and her down from Dublin, she’s good at them in fairness, about the only thing she’s good at. Off out to the pub and the heartburn was so bad I ended up sipping Ballygowan like some class of a y ank . If there is only one true thing in the world it’s that no Irish man will make a pass at a woman drinking water in a pub. And if any man did approach he’d be blown back on his arse by the strength of my belches. Things are so bad with my stomach that Berna has started referring to me as The Human Rennie. But there is only tiny relief. Surely be to God a race of people like the Irish, with our love of booze and Scots Clan, must have come up with a dinger of a cure for heartburn. What should I try?
— Rosealeen, Ballydesmond

My cousin is a doctor, I’d have married him only we don’t live in Carrigtwohill. I rang him there and said, what would be your advice to a heart-burn sufferer in Ballydesmond? He said, move, even Boherbue would be a step up.

How’re oo goin’ on? We’ve a crowd down from the city staying in our AirBnB out the back, I don’t know what to make of them. They don’t have a Cork accent at all which I find very suspicious. It’s two lads, two girls and they’re all from some place called St Luke’s. I can’t make out if they are respectable people or part of some cult with weird English accents, in which case I’m not sure I want them around my place over the New Year. What do you reckon?
— Dan Paddy Andy, take the first left after Dunmanway and start saying your prayers.

You’re grand. Now if it was a pack of people from St Luke’s who DIDN’T have weird English accent, that would be very suspicious. Happy New Year!