She’s sitting in the window of the, whatever you want to call it, nursing home, playing the piano – badly, I might add – and I get a sudden flashback to my childhood. This is what she did whenever we had, like, visitors coming to the gaff. 

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

For, like, 30 seconds, I’m as quiet as Thomond Pork since 2019 and the dude ends up having to repeat himself.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

So it’s, like, Paddy’s Day and me and the goys have arranged to go for our usual walk on Killiney Hill with the kids. They’re already waiting for us in the cor pork – we’re talking JP with little Isa, we’re talking Fionn with Hillary, we’re talking Christian with Ross Junior and Oliver and we’re talking Oisinn with little Paavo.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Honor says she’s not worried. She says she couldn’t give two focks. But Sorcha’s like, “Well, you’d better give two focks. This is a serious matter. A head girl has never been expelled, Honor – not in the 170-year history of this school.”

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

“The fock is this?” I go. Yeah, no, I’m doing the morning school run, crawling up Trees Road in a procession of all-terrain vehicles, like an invading ormy, when Honor hands me a piece of paper. She goes, “It’s, like, my results – from, like, my mocks?

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Conor Hession sits on the terrace, nursing a vodka lorge enough to put a grizzly bear to sleep. He’s like, “She was quite the most conniving, the most calculating, the most manipulative person I’ve ever met. And completely devoid of human feeling, of course.”

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sorcha rings me and there’s an air of, like, panic in her voice? She goes, “Ross, where are you?” Yeah, no, we’re in Portugal for midterm – along with the rest of south Dublin – and I’m on the road from Quinta do Lago to Vilamoura. Although I don’t tell her that.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Sorcha goes, “This is exciting, isn’t it, Ross?” because – yeah, no – we’re having dinner in Iguazu, a new hipster restaurant on Camden Street, where there’s no actual menu and an algorithm chooses what you’re going to eat based on the answers you provide to 10 questions when you’re booking.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Dalisay says she’s in the pool. I’m like, “The pool?” “Yes,” she goes. “Your mother likes to swim every morning. Would you like to see her?” I’m there, “In a way, no? But I suppose that’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? So I suppose – yeah, no – lead the way.” I walk with her from the old dear’s private ward to the actual gym.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

The Broken Orms is absolutely packed to the rafters for the engagement porty of Tina, the mother of my firstborn, to Tom, her fireman boyfriend, who famously played 300 matches in the All Ireland League, albeit for Bornhall.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.