Ask Audrey: She’s a total pervert, likes to tie me to the rad and pretend I’m from Glounthaune

I rang the Posh Cousin there and asked, what would you say to a hair-dresser on the Douglas Road? She said, get inside before someone sees you, and make me look like Taylor Swift. #Demanding

Hello, it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. I met a fella for a Tinder date a few weeks back even though he openly admits on his profile that he’s from Macroom, as if he was proud of it or something. We went for a nice walk in the woods — they’re lovely this time of year and, if things go right with your man, you could have a nice little knee-trembler up against a tree. Anyway, things did go right with your man and weren’t we at it every night as if we were from Scartaglin. The problem is that he’s a Liverpool fan and he got very upset when they announced they were joining up with some other crowd for a Super League — so upset that he was unable to reach the heights, so to speak, on the bedroom front, even after they changed their minds on Tuesday night. I said, c’mere now you’re from Macroom. The only things you have in common with Liverpool are an inferiority complex and a daft accent. But he’s not having it girl and last night didn’t he send me a terrible song he wrote about his erectile dysfunction called ‘The Game is Gone, I can’t be long’. Is this a red card offence tell me?

— Rosealeen, Ballydesmond

At least his team won something recently. My Conor is a Man United fan. He started crying next to me in the bed on Monday morning. I said, what’s wrong hon? He said, United are throwing away everything to shack up with a pack of rich Italians. I said, sounds amazing.

Hello old stock. I’d like to protest in the strongest manner possible about the roadworks going on in town at the moment. It would be one thing if they were doing something useful, like putting in a special lane on the South Mall for wealth-generators like myself, so we don’t have to suffer in a traffic jam with people from Frankfield and Grange who bought their cars on the never-never. Unfortunately, what’s going on in town now is pure vandalism, destroying one of the great driving cities of Europe just so that vegan tree-huggers can sit in the middle of a once-great street, drinking a flat-white made with milk that came from a plant. I bumped into Hoggy on Pembroke Street just now, and ended up shouting at him about my new girlfriend so I could be heard over the diggers, which stopped suddenly so half of Cork heard me saying: “She’s a total pervert, likes to tie me to the rad and pretend that I’m from Glounthaune.” It’s an outrage. Who do I contact to get it to stop?

— Reggie, Blackrock Road

My cousin is very high up in City Hall and no, he isn’t a window cleaner. I said, where do you stand on people in Range Rovers driving around town? He said, in front of them, you’d be talking six-figure compensation.

Hey dude, my old man’s Bond Villain house in Ballintemple is so big, our gate lodge has it’s own gate lodge. So when delivery guys drop my latest electric scooter to the door, I can see the envy in their eyes, along with the colour yellow because a lot of Norries don’t get enough vitamin B12. I’ve tried offering them cheese made by my hippy friend Michael Recycle in Schull but they’re all, “You’re grand boy, I’m fierce busy” and I say tempes fugit to try and make a connection but that just gets a todallll blank — it’s almost like they don’t understand Latin. So, like how does a hyper-woke ultra feminist Sagittarian from Ballintemple break down the barriers with a Norry in a van?

— Ed, Ballintemple.

I’m obsessed with delivery guys. One rang this morning and said, I’ll be up to there you in a minute Audrey, I’ll ring the bell when I get there with my package. I said, you must be very flexible. #HeSoWas