Lorna, Glasheen Road.
Well look at you all fertile and thinking you can control these things. Anyway, you should do everything in your power to have a child during the summer holidays. It’s a fantastic to way to avoid the expense of inviting every little darling in your child’s class to a birthday party for eight years in a row. You should see the tears in their little eyes if you don’t have a present to give them going home – it’s some consolation after spending €500 on the little tykes.
We saved big time by having our first two during the summer holidays. Unfortunately Mr Magoo and I got carried away after two much cava at the golf club Christmas dinner dance and out popped number three in September. We love that child as much as it is possible to love a child who I calculate cost us €3400 in unnecessary bouncy castles and Rice Krispie Cakes.
It means two things Gerry. One, you are clearly not a man to jump to conclusions. Two, you need to start looking for another girlfriend.
It couldn’t be clearer what’s going on even if she turned around and said “I’m off out there to have sex with a guy from work. Don’t forget to turn off the heating before going to bed.”
It’s time you stood up and did the decent thing. Which is to get her phone when she’s in the shower and send the following text to Lover Boy. “Bad news. Test results back today. It’s an STD alright. Will you still love me?”
He so won’t Gerry, he so won’t. Good luck with all that now.
There is certain type of person who thinks we spend our time eating spiced beef and goat’s cheese made by a cheerful Dutch hippy from just outside Bantry. We call that type of person The Dublin Foody Langer (or TDFL).
What TDFL doesn’t realise is that we spend most of our time eating cream cakes. (That’s why it can be hard to get past us on Grand Parade when we walk two abreast.) I recommend the Chester Cake, a cake made from material so dense that no one can hear you scream. It’s worth pointing out it’s impossible to talk while downing a Chester. Even Cork people can’t do it. And we’re what’s medically known as mad for chat.
I took a look at your Facebook page there Killian. It’s a tricky one alright. Unless there is somebody out there looking to hire a guy who can cycle a bike into the river Nore while dressed as Britney Spears. It’s a bit of a niche skill, to be honest.
Here’s my tip for the interview. When they ask “what can you bring to the table?” reply “superhuman levels of craic and messing at your Christmas party – it will work wonders for morale.” Then show them the Facebook shot of you and Shorty trying a human pyramid at 5am with that hen party from Clonmel. If that fails, I hear the circus is hiring. I think you’d fit right in.
Break up with him. You can’t beat break-up sex. In fact the only thing more exhilarating than having sex with your ex is doing so on a plane. (I’ll say no more on that matter or Mr Magoo and myself will never again be allowed to fly Aer Lingus.)
Anyway, here’s how to break up. Just use the four magic words – we need to talk. Then say nothing. Irish people hate silence so he’ll eventually say “is this a break up?” You burst out crying and say “you’re dumping me after eight years, you heartless bastard?” It never hurts to be the victim in these things. Stay away from him for a week before you turn up at his door in your cheeky black number to “return his jumper.” Go on ya good thing.