Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘Sorcha has an – I think it’s a word – alterior motive for the Zoom call’

I can tell that Ronan’s not coping well with the lockdown. He’s sitting in front of the computer in a vest that looks like it hasn’t been washed for a month. He has a shaved head, six weeks of red fuzz on his face and the crazy look of a man who’s thinking of just making a run for it, 2km radius be damned.

It's his wife's birthday today – the official reason for the family Zoom call? Although Sorcha has an – I think it's a word – alterior motive, which is to get my old pair talking again. Yeah, no, they haven't exchanged a word since she focked him out for turning down her proposal of marriage.

So me, Sorcha and the old man are on the computer in the study, Honor is on her laptop in her room, and Ronan and Shadden are on their laptop in their kitchen. Then, unbeknownst to the old man, the old dear is planning to join the conversation, once she's finished drinking her dinner.

We’re all there, “Happy birthday, Shadden!”

Armchair travel: Look east and discover Japan from home

---

Remote working: The most far-flung workplaces in Ireland

---

How I explore now: The travel writers who can’t leave home

---

Paul Flynn: Posh bacon and cabbage

---

And Shadden’s like, “Thanks!”

“So is Ronan spoiling you rotten?” Sorcha goes.

Ronan’s like, “Unfortunately, I wadn’t able to get out – what with the lockdown. I had a big surprise planned, but. I was brigging her to see Shadden Shadden.”

I’m like, “You were what?”

“Ine saying I was brigging Shadden to see Shadden Shadden.”

Seriously, my son grew up 40 minutes away from me on the M50 and he might as well be from a different dimension.

Oh my God,' Honor goes, 'this conversation is so focking lame!'

I’m like, “Ro, whatever you’re trying to say, we’re not getting a word of it.”

He goes, “I was brigging Shadden to see Shadden Shadden. In Caddick-on-Shadden. With her sister, Kadden.”

The old man looks at me. He’s like, “Is there something wrong with the computer, Ross? His voice is skipping or something.”

“It could be our internet connection,” Sorcha goes.

I'm there, "There's nothing wrong with the computer. It's, like, a language barrier issue? Maybe we should all go back to texting. Ro, will we all hang up and just text?"

Sorcha goes, "We are not texting, Ross! They're saying it's important while we're socially distancing that we maintain face-to-face contact with the people we love," and she gives me the look she always gives me when I'm being slow on the uptake.

Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure it’s a reference to my old dear joining the call in a few minutes.

She goes, "So how's everyone coping with the whole lockdown situation? I have to say – from my own personal point of view? – I'm surprised at how actually well I'm doing. I've decided that, by the end of this thing, I'm going to be the very best version of me that I can be."

“Er, feer fooks to you,” Ronan goes.

"I'm making a different soup every day," she goes. "I'm doing online yoga. And I'm thinking of learning a brand new language."

She should try the one that my son and daughter-in-law speak. It would save us having to ask them to keep repeating themselves.

"Plus," she goes, "I think it's making me appreciate what I have so much more."

"Oh my God," Honor goes, "this conversation is so focking lame!"

She’s there, “I actually mean it, Honor. Simple things – like being around the people I love all the time. Those things are important – don’t you think, Chorles?”

The old man goes, “I have to admit, I’m beginning to struggle with it, it’s just the uncertainty of it all.”

Ronan’s there, “It’s godda be a different wurdled when this is all fidished and who knows when that’ll be.”

"I'm talking about the rugby," the old man goes. "There's a Six Nations championship that needs finishing and no one seems to be mentioning it anymore."

"Oh my God," Honor goes, "this conversation is so focking lame!"

“You might think so, Honor. But there are millions of people around the world for whom the Six Nations plays a vital role in shortening the winter.”

A new window opens up on the screen.

“Oh my God,” Sorcha goes, “it’s Fionnuala!”

The old man’s there, “Fionnuala? I, em, better make myself scarce.”

Sorcha's like, "You will not make yourself scarce, Chorles! You'll stay here and you'll talk to each other like two civilised human beings."

Jesus! Up pops the woman’s face on the screen. I know that none of us are looking our best at the moment, but it’s like someone blowtorched the face off an inflatable sex doll and put the flames out with a meat hammer.

"Hello, everyone!" she goes – and then she spots my old man. "Oh, you're here!"

“Wasn’t my idea,” the old man goes. “Sorcha tricked me into it, using Shadden’s birthday as a ruse.”

“I just think if this lockdown has reminded us of anything,” Sorcha goes, “it’s the importance of cherishing our relationships.”

The old man goes, "I saw your letter to the Irish Times, Fionnuala, saying that the people who were selfish enough to go to Cheltenham should have been forced into some sort of direct provision centre on the Aran Islands on their return. A cheap shot at me, I take it."

"I see you cancelled my subscription to the Terroir's Wine Club," she goes. "Retaliation, was it?"

Yeah, no, the old dear has three crates of the same wine delivered to the house every month and she’s persuaded herself that she’s in a wine club.

"You're petty, Fionnuala," he goes.

And she’s like, “Not half as petty as you, Chorles.”

"Oh my God," Honor goes, "this conversation is so focking lame!"

I suddenly stand up. I’m there, “I, er, need a wizz.”

Except I don’t need a wizz. I tip upstairs and I stick my head around Honor’s bedroom door. She’s lying on her bed, watching TV.

I'm there, "You're not even on the focking call."

She’s like, “So?”

“So? How are you actually doing that?”

“I just put up a video of myself saying the conversation was lame on a 30-second loop. I’ve been doing that for, like, six weeks now.”

It’ll tell you how little we expect from our daughter in terms of conversation that no one suspected a thing.

“Honor,” I go, “do you know how anti-social that is?”

She’s like, “Er, I’m an anti-social person, Dad.”

And I’m there, “I need you to teach me how to do it?”