Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

Sorcha says she’s – oh my God – so excited about Saturday and I tell her I am too. She goes, “These are the moments, aren’t they?” Which is random because she’s hasn’t shown the slightest flicker of interest in rugby since she thought Rob Kearney gave her a smile and a wave at Taste of Dublin the year before the pandemic and I didn’t have the hort to tell her that he was smiling and waving at me.

The old man asks me if I’ve been boning up on my Spanish ahead of the trip to Bilbao. I’m like, “Is that where Bilbao is? In Spain?” I honestly think I learned more from rugby than I ever did at school.

So I’m in the gym and I’m bench-pressing, I don’t know, something ridiculous, when all of a sudden there’s someone standing over me and – yeah, no – they’re, like, talking to me? I take out the old AirPods and sit up and it ends up being Nicola, as in, like, Honor’s new – in fairness – girlfriend. 

The old man is sitting in the corner of what was once Shanahan’s on the Green, sucking on a Cohiba the size of a Daihatsu exhaust. 

Sorcha asks me how I’m feeling and I tell her I’m in scintillating form – especially after the win over Sale yesterday. I’m half-thinking of doing my joke about having a semi to look forward to – but then I think better of it.

“Come in,” she goes.This is Bernie I’m quoting – word for word, by the way – as in, like, Bernie the mother of Claire from, like, Bray of all places?

“Stop!” Sorcha goes. Yeah, no, we’re driving through Donnybrook at the time. I generally slow down anyway as we’re passing the spot where Kielys once stood, just to make the sign of the cross on myself. Except Sorcha is looking past me at the other side of the road?

The airport is absolutely rammers and I’m in – it has to be said – scintillating form, so much so that Sorcha actually remorks on it.