HELLO, it’s Rosealeen, here in Ballydesmond. The lifting of travel restrictions on Monday is a fecking blight on our lives, here on the Cork-and-Kerry border. ’Tis grand for ye lúdramáns inside in Cork City, because ye are more than 20km from any other county, so ye don’t have to put up with slack-jawed bogmen wandering over the border from places like Waterford and Tipperary.
No such luck for the good folk of north Cork, who have to put up with the Kerry crowd driving across for a gawk at Cork, in an Opel Corsa that’s held together by a piece of twine. I understand now how the people of west Berlin must have felt when the wall came down in 1989 and they noticed the pong of all the traffic across Checkpoint Charlie.
If anyone asks what Kerry people smell like, tell them it’s a curious mix of bacon panini and Lynx Africa. So, like, I don’t want to come across as a total bitch, but is there anything to be said for handing deodorant to the Kerry crowd at the county bounds? -
Hello, old stock. Or should I say, ‘awright mate’, considering the number of times myself and Hoggy took his chopper over to London this week for a couple of swifties after dinner? (Don’t worry, Hoggy has his own helicopter pilot, Derek, and Derek stayed on the lager shandy.
The singing-out of the three of us on the way back, it was like that time in Pres’ when we went on a school tour to the Seychelles.) Anyway, didn’t I get a tip-off from a friendly guard last night that there are rumblings in Ballinlough over the helicopter noise late at night, because, as I’m sure you know yourself, that part of Cork is wall-to-wall with begrudgers.
I hope now I don’t sound like a member of an out-of-touch elite when I say this country is plain banjaxed if wealth-generators like myself and Hoggy can’t fly 800km for a few pints of Village Idiot. Do you think we could appease the begrudgers with a competition to bring one lucky member of the lower orders with us next week? -
C’mere, what’s the story with getting someone else to run the country? I’m not being funny now, lah, but every time I see Stephen Donnelly on the news, I turn to the old doll and say, ‘C’mere, are you sure your life insurance is up to date?’
Sorry now, but this government would have trouble sorting you out for a chicken fillet roll in a motorway service station, let alone a jab of vaccine. People say to me, ‘Calm down with the anti-establishment line there, Dowcha Donie, isn’t the Taoiseach one of our own’, which is total fake news, because he’s only a southsider.
And no offence to Sinn Fein, but I’d rather move to Waterford than join a united Ireland, with all the trouble in Belfast, do you know that kind of way. As for the Greens, can’t vote for them either, because I hate avocados. I was saying to Budgie, the only thing that’s worked in Ireland for the past year has been home-delivery services.
So, like, is there any way we could get DHL, or maybe Deliveroo, to run the country?
It’s getting hot on our WhatsApp group, Douglas Road Stunners Who Can’t Stop Thinking about Simon Zebo. Fifi_WhiteRangeRover broke the news that he was coming back to Munster during the week, posting an Instagram video where she repeats, ‘Anyone know where I can get a divorce?’ in a loop, while wearing an eight-grand boyfriend jacket. #VeryNow #WhereDidYouGetIt #BitchLike.
Cliona_IncredibleAnkles tagged Simon in a TikTok video of her walking down the Marina, saying, ‘I’m totes polyamorous’; unfortunately, she also tagged her husband, Ken, by mistake and didn’t he move back in with one of their two au pairs. I’m actually getting anxious about it. Like, is there any chance that Simon Zebo might decide to live in Limerick?