Gettin' Your Score at Cork Week


Shams Can Score at Cork Week

Despite the common perception among your posse about feens into sailing most people who do it, just like those who play tennis and cricket, are not gay.

Strange as it seems there are some feens out there who are actually into racing sailing boats. Even when the wind is strong they crawl along at about 20 mph - about the speed you'd drive your wagon into your drive way at before pullin' up the hand brake and doin' a daycint skid.


God Almighty! Lamp dah like.


When you get down to the place itself in Crosshaven be wide cos there's law men every where. With so many posh feens around and their mad posh cars all over the shop the law are up the walls keepin' sketch on feens like you who are likely to soilk something. Its dog hard to get in for free as well - you have to know one of the security guards and get one of them to let you in. You could buy a pass of course but.yera sure fuck that!


 

You definitely would: some old
dolls at Cork Week on Monday

Once inside you find that Ford Week is pure freaky. Everyone is wearing the same gear and checkin' each other out. Dubarry shoes, Mustang jackets and brightly coloured horizontally striped rugby shirts are all standard issue.

First important thing you notice is the amount of flahs. I'm tellin' ye straight: the talent in sailing is savage. There's no point in trying to chat up straight away though - if they're sober they might think/know you're a bit of a sham and no matter how much of a flah you think you are yourself the last thing a posh old doll wants is to be mocked by her friends about being with somebody whose dad isn't in the top tax bracket.

She might be pullin' something else
before the night's over..whaoohboy!


Bangin' On About Sailing
Getting a few gats into you first is the trick and stand with a group of your biys in a circle outside one of the tents. When you come within some old doll's earshot make sure you sound like your talking about sailing. Hold your head up unusually high and talk like you have something stuck up your hole.

You can spout shite like:

"That little prick, who was calling 'starboard' on us at the first mark was off his chuck.."

"I can't believe our spinnaker* halyard got tangled in the forestay on the last leg today!"


* A spinnaker is a big colouredy sail you see hanging out the front of yachts like a big beer belly. It basically works like the spoiler on your sham wagon and makes the boat go faster. Regularly abbreviated to 'spinny'.

The usual approach you make to old dolls at city centre niteclubs isn't gong to work here no matter how locked you or your target is.

Dropping your hand to an inappropriate place in the first thirty seconds of conversation never works. They consider themselves to have "class" and appear to practice what they preach until they get enough gat into them. Asking them all about their Cork Week experience and how they got on in the race is more along the lines of what one should be talking about.

When the time is right - basically when she starts slurring or puking - instead of the usual direct chat up line which already carries a 50% chance of a clatter and involves licking mushy peas from her breasts its best to try something a bit more sophisticated .


This is about as good as it gets in Kinsale..
 
It's a bad move under any circumstance to give anything away about your background. If these 'chicks' get even the slightest whiff of lower-middle class from you you're fighting a losing battle. If your aul fellah is not a solicitor, barrister (plain old law man won't do), doctor, dentist or an auctioneer/bullshitter etc. pretend your family are all dead.

Now we'll leave out the sweaty details because Corklife is a respectable publication but there are a number of important things to remember when you score with a posh beour. Because of your non-upper middle class nature you can't bring her back to your "humble" gaf in case she suddenly gets "a headache" and does a U-turn. Its most likely that you'll end up in the cabin of a yacht moored on the marina in Crosshaven Yacht Club.

Yachts while impressive looking from the outside are fairly miserable inside. Cabin bunks are usually only about 2/3rds the width of normal single beds so you may have to perform in a fairly tight spot.

The cabin will also be full of sailing gear too: ropes; flares; lifejackets; fishing rods; oil skins; tins of food; and can all play a part in the proceedings if she's into that weird kinky stuff.

The worst part is probably that she's sharing the cabin with five or six crew so when all of those feens (blind drunk) bring back an old doll each (also blind drunk) it could get pretty hot and stuffy in the hull. Don't let it put you off though.

While the big crowd below deck means there'll be plenty of participants for pillow-talk next morning you'll have to scatter pretty early before the skipper arrives to prepare the boat to sail for the day. Chances are the skipper is the old's dolls father as well which could see you taking an early morning dip in the cold viagra flavoured water of our beautiful harbour.

When you're strollin' down the marina back to your wacker wagon against the flow of tense sailors legging to their yachts one must ponders upon the inevitable question: why don't they just use speed boats? They're way faster like!

Keep it Cork.

 
 
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