Frankie Styrne, Meath Live’s Agony Aunt,

Solves Your Problems.

All names and addresses have been withheld to protect the innocent, the guilty, and those who should really be in a home for the bewildered.


Dear Frankie,

I have a problem with my husband. He refuses to give up wearing his super-tight Speedos when he’s on his holidays and it’s very embarrassing, as he’s almost 60 and three stones overweight. We’ve booked a staycation in Kerry next week and, while I put up with the Speedos in Spain, I’m not going to stand for it in Ballybunion. How do I tell him without hurting his feelings?

Don’t tell him. Why hurt his feelings? Just get rid of his togs last minute before you go. Dump them. And then buy him a replacement pair of togs in Kerry, where they don’t sell filth like Speedos, the Healy-Rays have a bye-law in place that has them banned. That particular bye- law is just one in a series of measures to ban durty things in Kerry, known collectively as the Healy-Ray-Bans. Although I doubt you’ll be wearing swimming togs at all down there, have you not seen the weather forecast? It’s bleedin’ shockin’.


Dear Frankie,

I started texting a nice man I found on Tinder and I met him for the first time just last week. He’s a farmer with a very large dairy farm near Dunderry and he leases huge tracts of land out to other farmers as well. We got on well when we met and I really do like him. There’s only one problem. There’s a bang of cowshite off him that would knock you sideways. What’ll I do?

Let me get this right. You’re going out with a Meath farmer who has a “very large farm” and enough land to lease out to other farmers and you’re complaining about the smell of cowshite? Dear God, woman, just do what every farmer’s wife does! Buy yourself a nosepeg and get on with it! It probably doesn’t smell too good down an actual goldmine either, but would that stop you wearing it? You’re made up for life, girl. Marry him, I say. Immediately.


Dear Frankie.

What is the protocol for napkins in restaurants? My wife insists a napkin should be placed on the lap, while I insist it should be tucked inside the collar. I’m sure a woman of your breeding and charm would know the correct answer to this.

Inside the collar? Are you having me on? What are you, a gringo cowboy extra out of The Virginian or something? Jesus Holy Christ. Put your napkin on your lap like a proper gentleman, for God’s sake. Although I imagine it would take a lot more than a napkin to make a gentleman out of you. You don’t smell of cowshite, do you, by any chance?