So, I never thought I’d be turning to a provincial newspaper to sort out my problems but here we all are. I’m an incredibly well-known influencer in Dublin 4, there’s loads of us, and I was hosting an international scoop-up this week for body-positive influencer mates from London with incredible figures.
I was psyched, ya but well nervous too in case they didn’t dig our scene here in Little Old Dublin, ya feelin’ my vibe. So, it was going really well, the sun shone, Negronis, fleet of convertible Porches, heads turning all over the gaff, another Tuesday afternoon in the city.
Then we got back to a penthouse suite for photos and to discuss merch selling strats to the great un-washed, when disaster struck. Someone turned on the news and there was a report from the Ploughing Championships.
We were like blinded by all the freckles and more than one of the London crew started crying because like skin cancer ya, and then there was this scene with a tent full of muck-savages singing something called Hit the Diff.
You could hear a pin drop. The Londoners were polite, but you could see the sadness and pity in their eyes – imagine sharing a country with these ploughing plodders.
You must have some pull with the bogmen
being a Corky, so is there any chance you could get this ploughing shite show banned from now on?
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It’s getting competitive on our WhatsApp group Douglas Road Stunners Who Spend 8 Grand A year on Kids’ Wellies.
Yes, it’s that time of the year again where I drag Hugo and Fifi away from their screens for an afternoon so I can take photos of them kicking leaves in Currabinny Woods, total gold when it comes to up-yours content for the old Insta.
I was down there during the week when this one came towards us with her two kids and cheap-looking Cockapoo. (Total bang of Christ the King off her if you don’t mind.) So her two fell in with my two, kicking leaves and asking how long before they can go home and play Roblox.
I said to the mother, Gillian, do you mind if your two step out there for a minute I want to take a few shots to post to my bee-atches back on the Douglas Road. D idn’t she get the complete and utter hump.
"Aren’t my kids good enough to be in a photo with yours or something Jenni?" she bellowed at me, "is this because we’re from Ballintemple?"
I said, "Sorry now Gillian, but if you dress your kids as if they’re only from Ballinlough, then I’m not responsible for drawing the wrong conclusion."
Didn’t
she
record this and it’s gone viral around Cork. What will I do?
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How’re oo goin’ on? I am starting to wonder if Michael Collins was wasting his time getting rid of the Brits, the way the whole country is gone mad for rugby.
What are the chances of Cork ever beating Kerry again in the football if half of West Cork is gone mad for the oval ball, talking about pods and gainlines and whatnot?
I’m afraid to go down the town for a pint in case someone starts talking about this abomination of game.
Well didn’t I think my problems were solved when a new pub opened up this week, The Mouldy Bogman , for hipsters it is and they’re too up themselves to show rugby on the telly.
In I went anyway last weekend and you’ve never seen such a collection of facial hair and that was just the women says you. But there was no rugby or no talk of rugby.
I’m going in this weekend and want to make my mark. What do hipsters like to talk about?
— .
Hello, it’s Rosealeen here in Ballydesmond. Bad cess to Berna and her obsession with the but she kept me in last Friday watching it when we could have been out looking for a bit of meat in the Hiland in Newmarket .
I’ve nothing against people from northern Ireland, they’ve fierce sexy accents, but the show was so full of them you’d swear there was never anyone born in north Cork.
I can’t help thinking that RTÉ have it in for us. You’d be well connected in the media Audrey, what are the chances of getting a
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special recorded in Ballydesmond?