“The fock is going on here?” I go. Because – yeah, no – I’ve arrived home to find my wife, my four sons and my in-laws sitting in front of the TV watching, quite literally, a soccer match? My reaction is basically the same as it would be if I arrived home to find Sorcha in bed with Russell Crowe.

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So me and Ronan swing out to – believe it or not – Bray, just to see how my old man is getting on. I’ve a bet with him that he won’t last the summer living out there and I like to check on my investment from time to time.

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I absolutely despise Christian’s wife, Lauren. I say it as well. Not to her face obviously. Sorcha goes, “Ross, you shouldn’t despise anyone.” This coming from the girl who refuses to watch anything with Jake Gyllenhaal in it because he broke Taylor Swift’s hort a life sentence ago.

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So the latest “thing” in our house is the Swedish death clean. For those of you who aren’t married to Sorcha Lalor, this is a decluttering method that’s meant to spare your loved ones the trouble of sorting through your shit after you’ve dropped the mic.

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The old man says he thinks he might not live long enough to see Leinster win the European Cup again. I tell him I’m only 46 years old and I’m storting to feel the same way.

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Sorcha says she’s – oh my God – so excited about Saturday and I tell her I am too. She goes, “These are the moments, aren’t they?” Which is random because she’s hasn’t shown the slightest flicker of interest in rugby since she thought Rob Kearney gave her a smile and a wave at Taste of Dublin the year before the pandemic and I didn’t have the hort to tell her that he was smiling and waving at me.

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So what do you think? Yeah, no, Nicola – as in, like, Honor’s girlfriend – is showing me a watch that she bought from, like, Tiffany of all places? It must be, like, a grand’s worth.

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The old man asks me if I’ve been boning up on my Spanish ahead of the trip to Bilbao. I’m like, “Is that where Bilbao is? In Spain?” I honestly think I learned more from rugby than I ever did at school.

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So I’m in the gym and I’m bench-pressing, I don’t know, something ridiculous, when all of a sudden there’s someone standing over me and – yeah, no – they’re, like, talking to me? I take out the old AirPods and sit up and it ends up being Nicola, as in, like, Honor’s new – in fairness – girlfriend. 

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The old man is sitting in the corner of what was once Shanahan’s on the Green, sucking on a Cohiba the size of a Daihatsu exhaust. 

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