It’s gone Royal on our WhatsApp group, Douglas Road Stunners Who Wouldn’t Mind Being Kate Middleton. (Even though we’d hate to be called after a town in East Cork.)
Fifi_FutureQueen said she was glued to the coronation last weekend and if you married William you’d be devastated the way he turned into a baldy old man overnight, but it would still be worth it for all the nannies.
Orla_PrincessOrlaToYou said not to mention how proud you’d make your mam.
Well Audrey, mic-drop moment on the Stunners WhatsApp group. We’ve been going eight years now and that’s the first time anyone used the word “mam”, unless we’re mocking the cleaner.
We called an Extraordinary General Meeting at Chi Chi Caffeine, the latest bee-atching hotspot on Douglas Boulevard, and we put Orla in The Circle Of Shame.
We were sitting around her chanting: “It’s ‘mummy’ not ‘mam’, your language is a sham” — really brilliant afternoon except for Orla who couldn’t stop crying.
But Fifi_FutureQueen did raise the big question — what do you call your father if you want to make it clear that you are A Highly Suitable Person?
I read that Prince William calls his father “pa”, but that won’t work in Ireland because it sounds like a culchie version of Pat. So, Audrey what’s the correct name for your dad?
C’mere, what’s the story with paying to watch hurling?
Myself and Budgie are after discovering this white wine from Austria, Gruner Veltiliner it’s called. I know what you’re thinking, white wine from Austria, that’s like a southsider with a sense of common decency, but this stuff is the berries and it creeps up on you, like all good drinks should.
So Budgie arrives over to my place with a couple of bottles last weekend to watch Cork playing Tipperary, on goes the telly, no sign of the match.
Quick bit of Googling told us we have to pay for it, and we were a couple of glasses into the Gruner at this stage, so I said: “Come on Budgie, we’ll stroll down to the Páirc and watch it in the flesh.”
Off down we go, Blackrock end because the city end was jointed, we’re in among the pointy brown shoe brigade from Tipperary.
Doesn’t one of them catch me pouring a glass of Gruner for Budgie and then the mocking started and I laid into them over their cider habits and it was good craic to be honest.
So much so that we’re invited to Roscrea this weekend for a Gruner-cider taste-off with the locals. So Audrey, my question is, where’s Roscrea?
Hello it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. You know summer is around the corner when my bitch of a sister arrives down from Dublin every weekend because she wants to show her Yankee-accent children what it’s like to live in the countryside.
One of them asked me last Sunday if I’d get her a gelato, well didn’t I march her down to Berna’s shop for a 99, it never did us any harm.
Berna hands your one the ice cream, and didn’t the ungrateful little tyke start effing and blinding, it was like the time Fr O’Shea had that turn during Mass and told us we were a shower of mother-effers.
I said: “Where did you learn that language, Petronella?” (The names on them!) She said: “From my mom you effin cow.”
Well I dragged her up home by the mohawk and reared up at my bitch of a sister, what’s with the swearing says I, and she was all, “Would you ever calm down Rosealeen from Ballydesmond, they’re just effin words.”
Am I missing something now Audrey, are ye all cursing away at each other up in the cities?
So my main man, Bryan with a Y calls over yesterday with his new start-up idea — Hurling Drones.
We’re going to buy four drones and use them to broadcast big hurling matches for free.
We haven’t figured out a way to make money yet, but we both went to Pres so it should be no prob rustling up €10m in start-up investment from the old class-mates.
Bryan with a Y’s old man is a barrister and he said it’s illegal, but when was the last time you heard a barrister telling the truth?
So like, what should we call our new company?