potatoes focken

I'm having difficulty understanding my new flatmate.

Crap on a catamaran people, this is hard work.

He moved in a week or so ago, and hails from Northern Ireland.

Or 'Norn Iron' as he says. I think. Maybe a 'Norn' is a biscuit.

I've quickly established that a Northern Irish person doesn't sound like a person from say, Dublin.

He is completely and utterly indeterminable. The Swedes sound more coherent than he does, as far as I'm concerned. Now this wouldn't be an issue if I met him once-off. And never see him again.

If I only had to do one smile-and-wave, then fine. But fuck no.

I live with the guy. Which means, for the next however long we're in the same house together, I have to smile and wave. As in, when we're watching TV together. Queuing for the bathroom together. Microwaving meals together.
Generally living in the same space where conversation is taking place all the time.

It's complete gobbledeegook. I don't know what the fock e's tahken about, how's yer girl for a blowjob?.

This sounds pretty similar.

So conversation has been pretty stilted in our household. The focken crazy thing is that he understands exactly what I'm saying.

Irish: focken hell boo ta potatoes.

Peas: Ja...totally.

Irish: potatoes focken fock?

Peas: Ja....absolutely. [smiles and nods]

Irish: Naw lass I se focken ell twat?

Peas: Oh yes....twat.

Irish: Focken shit potatoes.

But if I went off on a Saffa tangent like, "Okes let's have a braai bru, I wanna chow some graze."

He gets that. So where am I failing?