Ross O'Carroll-Kelly: ‘I’ve genuinely never seen Sorcha so angry . . .

I ’ve literally never been more proud of my friend, Oisinn. I say it to him as well. I’m like, “Dude, I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you – certainly for something that’s, like, non-rugby-related.”

Sorcha gives him a hug and hands him the bottle of Veuve Clicquot that we picked up in The Corkscrew. He doesn’t even think about it. He rips off the foil, then he unscrews the wire cap and pops the cork. He grabs three plastic cups from the water cooler and he fills them up and we knock it back like it’s 2003 all over again.

“Fair focks,” I go. “And I mean that genuinely. Fair focks.”

It’s only, like, six weeks since Oisinn emerged from bankruptcy and this is his latest venture, we’re talking Eire Libre – a travel agency that’s planning to make Dublin the gay stag, hen, hag and sten capital of the world.

I’m like, “It’s a licence to print money. The whole BGT thing is suddenly massive.”

And of course Sorcha has to go, "Yeah, BGT is Britain's Got Talent, Ross. The actual acronym is LGBTQ."

I’m like, “Well, whatever the letters are, I’m just saying that what he’s doing is incredible.”

And it is incredible? He's opened an office above the Nespresso shop on Duke Street. At the moment, all he's got in it are, like, two desks, two laptops and two telephones. And then, on the wall, there's the company logo, a massive E, with an L built into it, in the colours of the rainbow.

“We want to turn Duke Street into the Old Compton Street of Dublin,” he goes. “Gay pubs, gay restaurants, gay nightclubs… Obviously a juice bor.”

“It’s very much needed,” Sorcha goes. “I genuinely believe that.”

Oisinn refills our cups. "I can't believe the response," he goes. "We only opened for business, like, a week ago and already we've had 14 bookings. From America, France, England. LGBTQ people from all over the world want to come here, to the most tolerant country in the world, to celebrate their last night of freedom."

I’m there, “I’m so proud of you, dude. And I’m saying that as someone who – as Sorcha will tell you – voted very much Yes in the whole referendum thing.”

And Oisinn goes to say something, except I shake my head to tell him to keep his big Von Trapp shut, which he thankfully does. Instead, he goes, “Ross, I wanted to say thanks to you.”

I’m there, “Hey, what are you thanking me for?”

He’s like, “Back in 2009, when everything fell aport, I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

“One word,” I go. “Rugby.”

He’s there, “No, rugby doesn’t explain everything, Ross.”

“I like to think it does,” I go. “I like to think that rugby explains most things.”

“I was more than seventy million euros in debt,” he goes. “And I thought my only option was to do a runner. I took the same route as thousands of others. Left the SUV in the airport corpork with the keys in the ignition and I hopped on a plane. I didn’t see any other way out. And, aport than the people I owed money to, I didn’t think anyone would particularly miss me.”

"Well, I missed you."

“You did. And you came looking for me. And I’ll never forget that day outside the casino in Monte Corlo when you found me. You said the same words that Fr Fehily used to say to us whenever we were losing at half time. You said, ‘Take a look at the label on your shirt. It says: These colours don’t run!’”

I nod. I’m there, “Sometimes I think that Fr Fehily’s quotes are the only thing of any value I ever learned. Aport from them, seriously, my head is like a focking parrot park.”

He goes, “You saved my life, Ross.”

I’m there, “Again, it was rugby.”

He’s like, “It wasn’t rugby,” and then he stops and he goes, “It was love.”

I just shrug. I’m here, “So it was love. Why are we making such a big deal of it?”

Sorcha's like, "Oh! My God! This is, like, so an amazing moment."

Oisinn goes, “Ross, I wanted to ask you a very special favour.”

I’m like, “Ask away, dude.”

He’s there, “I want you to be a director of Eire Libre.”

I’m literally speechless.

I'm like, "Dude, that's an incredible, incredible honour. There's a possibility, after the way it ended with Shred Focking Everything, that I might be disqualified from being a director of a company for 10 years. But if Hennessy can get me off the hook, then I'm going to give you the same answer that I put on my ballot paper – and that answer is yes."

We end up sharing the most unbelievable hug then. And Sorcha’s wiping away tears, which could be the emotion of the moment, or it could be just the Veuve, because she’s milling it.

And that’s when Grainne, Oisinn’s business portner, walks into the office and puts a size 5 Loub into it.

Oisinn goes, “Grainne, this is my best friend, Ross, and this is his wife, Sorcha.”

And Grainne’s face lights up when she sees me and she goes, “Oh my God, is this the guy who didn’t vote?”

My blood runs suddenly cold. I’m shaking my head at her, trying to tell her to shut the fock up, except the damage is already done.

“You didn’t vote?” Sorcha goes.

“Look,” I go, “it’s not a major deal.”

She’s there, “I asked you to drive my grandmother to the polling station. What happened?”

"She was going to vote No," I go. "And I was going to vote obviously Yes. So she's the real villain in all of this – the total bigot. So I rang her up and I said why don't we just agree to both not vote? We're only going to end up cancelling each other out anyway."

She goes, “Where did you go, Ross?”

I can’t even look her in the eye. I’m like, “I was in Kielys – with Oisinn here.”

"I did vote, though," he quickly goes.

Yeah, he’s some mate alright.

I’ve genuinely never seen Sorcha so angry with me for something other than sleeping with her friends. She goes, “Well, I’m glad you two had this big male bonding session this afternoon. Because until further notice, Oisinn, he’s going to be living with you.”