Ross O’Carroll Kelly: ‘Claire doesn’t have, like, a Wicklow Wicklow accent? she’s very, very nearly South Dublin’

‘Oh my God,” Sorcha goes – except she says it in, like, a good way? “I’ve lost eight pounds inside a week!”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, malnutrition certainly seems to be the way to go, Babes.”

She goes, "Er, I'm hordly malnourished, Ross," dragging her IV drip stand across the kitchen behind her. "These bags of fluid contain all the vitamins you need for a healthy and balanced diet. In fact, I read somewhere that this is a more effective way of nourishing the body than actually eating?"

"Did you read that in a medical journal?" Honor goes, looking up from her iPhone. "Or was it in Closer magazine?"

Sorcha doesn’t answer. I think her silence tells us much.

"Anywaaay," Sorcha goes, trying to move the conversation along, "it's only for six weeks. I'm determined to fit into my Victoria by Victoria Beckham @ Victoria Beckham dress before the summer is over."

I’ve seen that thing hanging in her wardrobe – it looks like a windsock.

“And,” she goes, “I want to lose a few pounds before we go away on holidays.”

I think I mentioned, we're off to Toronto in August to stay with Claire and that tool she married. I'm there, "I still haven't decided if I'm definitely going. Travelling all that distance just to hang out with people from Bray."

"Garret isn't from Bray, Ross. He's from Greystones. "

“I call it Braystones. Seriously, one or two nice restaurants and a bit of sea air and they think they’re a cut above the rest of Wicklow. Well, they’re not. They’re sandpeople – nothing more.”

“You need to work on yourself,” Sorcha says, dragging her breakfast across the kitchen on casters. I don’t think I’m the only one.

Honor goes, “I don’t want to go to Toronto either. What if I pick up a Wicklow accent?”

Sorcha's there, "Claire's your actual godmother, Honor! And anyway, she doesn't have a Wicklow accent – as in, like, a Wicklow Wicklow accent? As a matter of fact, she's very, very nearly South Dublin."

I’m like, “Yeah, no, that sums up Bray right there – very, very nearly South Dublin, but very, very not. I think Honor has an actual point. We can’t send her back to Mount Anville in September with her accent going up and down like the price of diesel. I think that’s settled it. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

"Ross, we're going to Toronto. The three of us. And we're going to have an amazing, amazing time. And I'm going to be – oh my God – so thin!"

“At this rate I’ll be pushing your through the arrivals gate in a wheelchair.”

“I just don’t want to feel big next to Claire, that’s all.”

“Claire? From what I remember, Babes, she’s no stranger to a Snack Box herself.”

“Not anymore – her and Garret have gone Paleo.”

“They’ve gone what?”

“As in, they’re only eating, like, natural, healthful foods – fruit, vegetables, eggs, nuts and seeds. Nothing processed.”

“I just think people these days have way too much time on their hands.”

“Do you follow them on Facebook?”

“That pair? I wouldn’t follow them if they were running for a lifeboat and the alternative was drowning in the sea.”

Honor looks up from her phone and goes, “Good one, Dad!”

It’s a lovely thing for me to hear – especially coming from her. I’m there, “I can come up with loads more lines like that, Honor, if that’s the kind of stuff you like.”

She goes, “Stop sucking up to me. You’re only trying to get on my good side so I don’t say horrible things to you.”

“There’s a little bit of that involved – I’m going to admit it. I’m also trying to be a good father by making you laugh.”

Sorcha goes, “Here’s a picture of Garret and Claire, Ross,” and she holds up her phone to me.

I’m there, “I can’t see it from here, Sorcha. And I’m literally not interested enough to walk across the kitchen for a better look. I think that’s what they call a Catch 52 situation.”

She rolls her eyes, then rolls her drip stand back across the kitchen floor – she holds up her phone five inches from my face. She’s like, “There!”

And my mouth falls open.

It's actually him I can't stop looking at? He looks – it kills me to say it – unbelievable. The dude is stripped to the waist. The top half, I should add. He's got abs like speed bumps and biceps like actual cricket balls.

I’m there, “What the fock has he been doing?”

Sorcha goes, “He’s in training, Ross.”

I'm like, "Training? He's not interested in sport. He pulls a face every time I try to bring the conversation around to rugby. I've seen him do it, Sorcha."

“Well, he’s running a 10k race in August. To raise awareness.”

“Of what?”

“I can’t remember.”

“He’s not doing a very good job then, is he? I know I’m his number one critic and everything.”

“I wrote it in my phone.”

“Youth homelessness,” Honor goes, suddenly looking up. “I just Googled it. It’s a 10k race along the Toronto waterfront to raise awareness of young people living on the streets. Oh my God, it’s happening while we’re actually there!”

I can't believe how ripped the dude looks. I run my hand over the old Minka Kelly. Now I'm the one who feels suddenly fat.

“Oh! My God!” Honor goes. “Dad, you know what you have to do?”

I’m there, “Are you thinking I should go on the banana bags myself?”

She’s like, “No! You’ve got to enter this race!”

“Hey, it’s lovely to know that you have that kind of faith in me, Honor. But I’m not sure I could win it, even though I’m still in pretty good shape.”

“You don’t have to win it,” she goes.

"You just have to cross the line ahead of him. Oh my God, it'd make me so proud to see you totally undermine his efforts, then rub his face in it."

Sorcha’s there, “Honor, that’s not a good reason to do anything.”

I’m like, “Do you really mean that, Honor?”

And Honor's there, "Oh my God – so proud!"

“In that case,” I go, “you’ll have to excuse me, ladies. The Rossmeister has sit-ups to do.” ILLUSTRATION: ALAN CLARKE