Just when the old dear thinks things are on the up and up – no better man to bring her back down to earth . . ., writes ROSS O'CARROLL KELLY
THERE’S A LOT of dodgy fifty yoyo notes doing the rounds. I only know because when I went to the old Hilary Swank the other day to lodge the day’s take – one of my duties with Shred Focking Everything, the fastest-growing confidential document disposal service in the country – the dude behind the bulletproof glass storted holding the notes up to the light, presumably checking they weren’t forgeries.
“Dude, I think if anyone’s entitled to have trust issues,” I went, “they’re going to be standing on this side of the counter?” and he suddenly storted acting all, I suppose, sheepish.
“Well, obviously,” he went, trying to make a joke out of it, “we can’t take any chances.”
I actually laughed in his face, then turned around to this bird who was next in line – the spits of Summer Glau – and went, “Chances? This is the crowd who were giving mortgages to actors and the long-term working class. They’ve balls like focking planets, don’t they?” and she sort of, like, smiled at me and I thought, “yeah, you’ve still got it, Rossmeister. You’ve still got it.”
So I ended up, like, hanging around outside the bank, waiting for her to come out. I was going to give her one or two more cracking lines about, I suppose, current affairs, then pay her maybe a compliment or two – beautiful eyes, massive Fireflyfan, blah blah blah – and see could I get her to hand over her digits.
But that was before I spotted the old dear’s 6 Series convertible taking up two porking spaces outside Terroirs and I suddenly remembered that Tuesday is the day she meets “the girls” for coffee.
Would you believe me if I told you that I decided to let this total stunner escape my clutches to instead go to see my old dear and her ridiculous mates feed their faces with strawberry roulade in Donnybrook Fair?
Not only that, roysh, but that I took the stairs up to the coffee shop two at a time? The reason was that I had some news – a bit of goss I found out that morning – and I was pretty sure it was going to ruin the old dear’s day.
I spotted them straight away, we’re talking the old dear, Delma, Angela and one or two other veterans of the Move Funderland to the Northside and Stop the Luas Coming to Foxrock campaigns. Hard to miss them. They were all ridiculousy overdressed and they hummed like a hooker’s handbag.
I could hear the old dear giving it, “Tomorrow, I might do my famous minted spout and chestnut roast. And Delma, would you be an absolute darling and do you citrus pappardelle stirfry? It’s been very popular.”
It’s three months now since they storted the old Foxrock Foodbank, giving out parcels of nosebag to those who’ve been affected by the current economic blahdy blah in the Dublin 18 area. Three nights a week, they’re set up at the entrance to the racecourse in the village, serving a queue that usually stretches halfway up Brighton Road.
Miriam Lord wrote a piece in this rag saying it was “like Poland under Jaruzelski, except with more vintage furs” and there’s talk of a People of the Year award – although the talk has been mostly from the old dear herself.
“If it happens, it happens,” I heard her telling the rest of them.
“But it’s like I said to Adi Roche recently, I’m not doing this for the personal recognition – although it would be nice and I’ve got a fab-alous Badgley Mischka evening gown that I’d wear on the night.
"But no, I'm doing this to feel that I'm lending a handat what is a terrible, terrible time for a great many people on this side of the city." I actually laughed and she looked up and copped me for the first time.
“Oh, hello, Ross,” she went, cracking on to be all delighted to see me, so straight away I went, “Look who it is, the Witches of Morehampton Road – cooking up more of your evil brews, are you?”
Because even though the woman can do un-focking-believable things with a skillet and a fistful of caraway seeds, the one thing you don’t want to do is let her get all, like, palsy-walsy with you?
“Now,” she went, “we’ll have none of your unpleasantness, thank you very much. I don’t know why you have to be so cynical about my famous charity work.
"Well, thank God not everyone's like you. Delma, what was it Miriam wrote in the Times?" Delma, who's only ever seen good in the old dear, went, "Share the pain has become the political mantra of our times. Out in Foxrock – where they've always delighted in doing things differently – they're sharing the pain de campagne with consommé of pancetta and pousse."
The old dear shook her head and smiled, I suppose you'd have to say, fondly? "Oh, she's very sharp, isn't she?"
I just laughed. Had to. “It sounds to me like she was ripping the actual piss out of you.”
“Not everyone’s like you,” she went. “People have been saying terribly kind things about what we’re doing.”
She turned to Angela. “Like Charles, for instance. Do you know what he said to me the other day? We were having dinner – one or two things to sort out in relation to the divorce – and he said, ‘I’ll hear no more talk about this being an uncaring society that we’re living in!’ You know the way he talks!
“He said, ‘Look around you. We’ve got NAMA, for Bernard McNamara and all the other victims of this thing that’s happened.Then we’ve the likes of you and your charity work, Fionnuala, looking after the people who’ve fallen through the gaps!’ Oh, it was a wonderful thing for me to hear . . .”
I decided I couldn’t listen to any more of this, so I hit her with the news.
Straight out.
Didn’t sugarcoat it. “They’re opening a Subway restaurant in Donnybrook,” I went.
All their faces just, like, dropped. It was like I told them that the McCorthy-Dundons had bought the focking Gables.
The old dear went, “You mean . . .” and I was there – big smirk on my face – “That’s right, mother. The turkey roll sub finally comes to Donnybrook. It sounds to me like this whole economic thing is getting worse.”
Angela – all worried – went, “Fionnuala, there are schools in this area!” The old dear was like, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m on it. The Foodbank is going to have to go on hold.
“Delma, you arrange the placcards. I’m going to start ringing around some of the local politicians.”
rossocarrollkelly.ie
“Would you believe me if I told you I decided to let this total stunner escape my clutches to instead go to see my old dear and her ridiculous mates feed their faces with strawberry roulade in Donnybrook Fair?