Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

Ronan shows up at the front door wearing a Santa hat and a big smile. I’m there, “What are you, drunk?” because I’m aware that the Ireland soccer team had some kind of result at the weekend.

Things have been a bit – yeah, no – strained between Christian and me ever since he got back with his ex-wife, Lauren. I told him straight out that he was Hertz Car Rental even thinking about going there again. But he asked her to marry him irregordless and then, in the first flush of their rediscovered love, she asked him – “tell me honestly, I won’t be angry” – what his friends thought of them getting hitched again and the dude snitched on me like a parrot with a megaphone.

The front door slams and the entire orangerie – built without planning permission at the height of the Celtic Tiger – shakes to its foundations. Sorcha’s eyes meet mine. Ten seconds later we hear Honor’s bedroom door slam too and we both silently wonder whether the structure will stay standing for what’s left of our daughter’s teenage years.

The room is absolutely rammers and I’m listening outside the door as various randomers talk s, h, one, t, about me and my famous coaching methods.

There’s a meeting. That’s the big news of the day. I’m like, “What kind of a meeting?” And Fionn goes, “Ross, you’re not invited.”

“Here, Rosser,” Ronan goes, pouring me a lorge glass of red, “get yisser laughing gear around that.”

So – yeah, no – the kids are all standing around me in a semi-circle and they’re, like, hanging on my every word. And I’m in my absolute element, of course, going, “Today, I’m going to teach you guys a thing or two about passing this beautiful object,” showing them a rugby ball. “Now, can anyone here name some types of passes that we might use in rugby?”

Sorcha is up to pretty much 90. It’s the night of Honor’s debs and we’re all waiting for her date, Iarlaith – yeah, no, a girl – to arrive. Sorcha’s old pair are here, as well as my old man, then 10 or 11 of Sorcha’s friends and half the Vico Road. 

The street in front of the restaurant is absolutely rammers and I spot quite a few familiar faces – we’re talking former government ministers, we’re talking former High Court judges, we’re talking two or three former rugby internationals and one or two heads from RTÉ.