Ask Audrey: 'Good taste in Tipperary is someone who never drinks Diamond White'

I’d never tell people I’m from ‘the right side of the Rochestown Road’ – all you have there is an uninterrupted view of Mahon.

The old lady driving me nuts. She’s an appalling snob and refused to talk to me for year because I chose nursing after ‘she scrimped and saved to pay my fees in Scoil Mhuire’, she couldn’t believe I wouldn’t do medicine when I had the points, they were all giving her a look up in Douglas Golf Club apparently. I’m back living with the old bee-atch now, we’re on the right side of the Rochestown Road, the traffic is a nightmare getting into town. My boyfriend is living with us as well, she had her own room sound-proofed when we moved in, do you think that’s disgusting or is it just me? I doubt they’re even doing it, my father is from Randy town, aka Passage West, but he’s 73 and he can’t stand Mummy. My boyfriend hates her too because she keeps making jokes about him coming from Frankfield. I keep telling her his parents live in a 4-bedroom detached house and that similar houses are getting over half a mill on the market, but all she says to that is ‘go live with them so’. She offered us fifty grand to buy a house, but that would mean living up with the Norries. Would I be okay in Frankfield?

- Name With-held, the right side of the Rochestown Road.

Y ou’ll be fine. It’s the people in Frankfield I’d be worried about.

C’ mere what’s the story with getting a pint of Fosters in a 4-star country house hotel. It’s late January and the old doll has only one thing on her mind - a two night stay in an old country house hotel. I keep telling her, these things are zero craic girl and the y cost a fortune – we’d have a week in Lanzers for the same price, and that wouldn’t be full of uptight couples with Volvos and expensive glasses. Might as well be talking to the wall. We’ve booked some gaff in Tipperary, so at least I get to give orders to that shower of gomies. Unfortunately, that’s part of the problem. We went to this other place last year, it was in Kilkenny, another shower of absolute gomies. I came down to the bar when she was putting on her face, nice one, a couple of handy pints before I have to drink prosecco so she can send a photo of us to her sisters and drive them bananas with the jealousy. Up to the bar I go, your man is all beard and man-bun, I say what lagers do you have and he’s taking out these bottles from local breweries, so eventually I said do you have any Fosters and the whole place turned around. One or two of them started laughing and pointing at my Liverpool tracksuit. The opposite of hospitality. I’m bringing a bag of cans this year – what do I say if they give me gyp in the bar?

- Dowcha Donie, Blackpool

You’ll be grand with Fosters. The definition of good taste in Tipperary is someone who never drinks Diamond White.

H ello it’s Rosaleen here in Ballydesmond. Well feck the storms anyway, didn’t the wind knock over my recycling bin and scatter a batch of saucy letters from my ex boyfriend, he’s a guard inside in Bishopstown. I knew nothing until a billboard appeared on the road out of Scartaglin – Visit Ballydesmond, Home of The Busty Whipper. That’s what he used to call me in fairness. O h lads - h e’s a very naughty Sergeant. On the one hand, I’m mortified. On the other hand, I’m getting a mighty sensation remembering the sessions I had with Sergeant Bold Boy in his Retribution Room. (It was his garage with a red light bulb, but my God it did the trick. ) Is there anything to be said for giving him a call or is it a case of you should never go back ? 

- Ros e aleen, Ballydesmond

I never call my exes. Mainly because of the barring orders.