JP says Chloe is writing a novel based on her college days. He’s like, “She’s hoping to do for DBS what Sally Rooney did for Trinity.”
I’m there, “Jesus, why would anyone want to do that?”
He goes, “I’ve no idea – but she said it like it was a good thing?”
And I’m like, “Fock.”
Sorcha is standing at the island with a boning knife in one hand and an espresso in the other, grinning at us like a serial killer
The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’
‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’
‘Sorcha, I’m wondering is climate justice maybe a bit above Santa’s pay grade?’
This is us in The Bridge last weekend, by the way, with Munster beaten and Saturday night stretching out in front of us like Yolanda Adams on a chaise longue.
I’m there, “I’m guessing there’ll be a character based on me in there,” because I had one or two scenes with her back in the day.
He goes, “I doubt it,” because he doesn’t like to be reminded. “You were hordly Connell to her Marianne.”
And I’m like, “Yeah, no, you keep telling yourself that, Dude.”
He decides to change the subject then. He goes, “How’s Sorcha?”
I’m like, “She wants another baby.”
“What?”
“Yeah, no, she dropped it on me last week. Wants another saucepan.”
“But you’re – ”
“Early to mid-forties.”
“And she’s – ”
“Same ballpork.”
“You have to talk her out of it, Dude.”
“Yeah, no, I’m in the process.”
“And how are the boys?”
“Not great. Well, fine in the sense that they haven’t been taken into care or anything like that. But they’re absolutely shit at rugby.”
“Every parent’s worst nightmare.”
“I mean, I bring them to Wanderer’s every Saturday morning and they’ve no even interest. You remember Mick Stelfox? Played for Mary’s back in the day? He’s their coach and sometimes he shoots me a look as if to say, yeah, no, sometimes genius skips a generation?”
“I’m so sorry you’re going through that.”
“That’d be the one good thing that might come out of having another kid? If it was a boy, I could focus all of my energies on turning him into a rugby player. It might even motivate the other three dopes. Whose round is it?”
“It’s mine.”
“I had nightmares for weeks afterwards,” Oisinn goes – which is a bit OTT?
He signals to Jamie for two more pints of the Amsterdamage.
I’m there, “It’s screens, Dude. They’ve ruined them.”
He’s like, “Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“They were so bad last weekend, I thought about doing my old trick of, you know, sending them chicken feathers anonymously in the post.”
He’s like, “What?” and – I swear to God – he’s suddenly staring at me like I’ve said I’m really enjoying his old dear’s OnlyFans account.
“It was you!” he goes.
I’m like, “What was me?”
“When we were in school, in our Senior Cup year, someone sent me chicken feathers in the post.”
“I told you it was me, didn’t I?”
“No, you focking didn’t.”
“Well, you dropped that high ball under pressure against Belvo and I thought you needed something to focus your mind.”
He’s suddenly just, like, staring into space, going, “I can’t believe that was you.”
I’m there, “Dude, you didn’t drop another ball for the rest of your schools career. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Don’t stort trying to guilt-trip me, goys. Do you think I liked having to do it? Not one of you would have won a Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal if it wasn’t for me, can I just remind you?
Ten seconds later, Christian shows up, absolutely full of the joys.
He goes, “I believe you and Sorcha are trying for another – ”
I’m like, “We’re not trying for another anything.”
“That’s good. I was going to say. At your age? Are you all right, JP?”
And JP goes, “Ross sent me chicken feathers in the post.”
Christian’s like, “What?” because – yeah, no – it’s definitely random. “When?”
JP’s there, “In our Senior Cup year.”
I’m like, “I thought I definitely told you it was me.”
But now it’s Christian’s turn to look shocked.
He goes, “Someone sent me chicken feathers in the post after I gave away a penalty against Michael’s.”
I’m like, “It was a stupid penalty to give away, Dude – right in front of the posts.”
“It was you?”
“Goys, I was your captain. It was my job to motivate you.”
“My old man phoned the gords.”
“Well, now they can finally close the case.”
“That’s, like, haunted me for 25 years. Who could hate me so much to send me chicken feathers in the post?”
“On the upside, you were probably our best player that year – after me obviously.”
That’s when Oisinn decides to finally show his face.
He goes, “Great result today.”
I’m like, “Wasn’t even close.”
He goes, “Here, JP, I believe Chloe is writing a book based on her college days.”
I’m there, “She’s hoping to do for DBS what Sally Rooney did for Trinity.”
He goes, “Why would anyone want to do that?”
And I’m like, “You took the words out of my mouth, Dude.”
JP can’t let the other thing go, of course. He goes, “Oisinn, did you ever get sent chicken feathers in the post?”
I’m like, “Okay, this is turning into a witch hunt.”
Oisinn goes, “Once. After we played Gonzaga back in the day. I was penalised three times for collapsing the scrum.”
JP goes, “Just to let you know, it was Ross who sent them.”
Oisinn’s like, “What?” giving it the big dramatic response. “You?”
I’m there, “Goys, I genuinely thought you knew all of this.”
“I had nightmares for weeks afterwards,” Oisinn goes – which is a bit OTT?
I’m there, “But you also made the Irish schools team that summer – even though you got shingles and couldn’t travel to Orgentina in the end.”
The three of them are just standing there with their mouths open.
I’m like, “Don’t stort trying to guilt-trip me, goys. Do you think I liked having to do it? Not one of you would have won a Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal if it wasn’t for me, can I just remind you?”
That’s when Fionn appears – last as always, to avoid having to get his round in.
He goes, “Hey, everyone. Hey, Ross, I hear Sorcha’s talking about having another baby.”
I’m there, “Jesus, has she announced this on Insta or something?”
He’s like, “No, I was talking to her earlier. So why’s everyone so quiet?”
JP goes, “Fionn, did you ever get sent chicken feathers in the post?”
I knock back the last of my pint.
He’s there, “Yeah, when we were in school. Four or five times actually.”
I’m like, “Do you know what, goys? I’m going to hit the road. I’m just not feeling it tonight.”
