Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘He’s got 12 months of hord training behind him. All I’ve really got is drugs’

I t's the first thing I see when we walk through the arrivals gate in Toronto. Garret has a moustache. And I don't mean he has a moustache like my son has a moustache, or even – I'm going to say it – like my old dear has a moustache. No, his isn't one of those newsprint jobbies that looks like it'd come off if you gave it a rub with a flannel. This is one of those moustaches with the curly ends that hipsters grow when they feel that their passion for independent coffee shops, cross-body bags and bands that no one has ever heard of aren't getting them enough attention.

The first thing I do, obviously, is laugh in the dude’s face. I’m like, “You really are the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

"Yeah," he tries to go, "you wouldn't know anything about it – it's called style," and he looks at my chinos and Dubes like he thinks they're not stylish?

Claire goes, “Okay, you two, don’t start – God, I haven’t even said hello to Sorcha yet,” but then she does. It ends up being all air-kisses and blah, blah, blah.

Honor backs me up, though. She’s not a bit tired after the flight. “You look like a complete tool,” she goes.

I’m thinking, ‘Go on, Honor, get stuck into him.’

She’s there, “I just want to keep slapping your face until you wake up to yourself.”

I laugh. God, she’s good. Then she learned from the master.

Sorcha goes, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Garret. Look, maybe it would be best if we stayed in a hotel, if this is what the next two weeks are going to be like."

And Claire's there, "You will not stay in a hotel! We invited you to Canada and you're staying with us! We're all just going to have to try to get along."

So out to the corpork we go. He's driving a Kia Soul. That's worth repeating. He's driving a Kia Soul. Poor Honor ends up having to do a double take when he opens the back door for us.

"Okay," she goes, "does it have an engine or do we all have to run along the road like the focking Flintstones?"

I’m there, “You’re nailing this, Honor. I know I give you a lot of positive feedback, but in this case you’re, like, totally nailing it.”

Sorcha’s not happy, though. She tries to keep the conversation jollying along on the drive to wherever it is that these two saps even live. She’s like, “So, Garret, how’s the shop?”

"Organic bakery," he goes, actually correcting her? "Yeah, no, we've never been busier. And Claire and I actually have an announcement to make. We've storted doing street food as well."

“Street food?” Honor goes. “Well, you’re from Braystones. You probably grew up eating out of bins.”

I’m there, “Honor, it’s a bit squashed in the back here, but you are getting a high-five for that when we get out of this cor – that’s locked in.”

While I’m saying that, I’m looking at Garret’s orms. He’s got some set of guns on him, whatever training he’s actually doing.

Claire must have copped me staring at them, roysh, because she goes, “So, Ross, did you hear that Garret’s running his first ever 10k next week?”

I’m there, “No! Actual! Way!” cracking on to be all surprised. They don’t know yet that I’ve entered the race myself.

“I didn’t think you were into sports. I thought you said sports were sad.”

“I said rugby was sad,” he goes. “And the people who play it.”

I stare at the back of his head. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hate him at this precise moment.

I’m there, “You know what, I think I might enter this so-called race myself.”

Sorcha rolls her eyes and shakes her head and goes, “Ross, tell them the truth. He’s already entered, Garret. He’s been training for it for the past month.”

I’m pretty sure there was something in our marriage vows about being on each other’s side in good times and bad. Then again I’m on thin ice quoting the promises we made to each other that day.

“Yeah, no, fair enough,” I go, “I have entered. I did it online.”

Claire’s like, “Well, good for you, Ross. What are you doing it for?”

I’m there, “What do you mean?”

"Well, Garret's running to raise awareness of Leishmaniasis and related parasitic diseases in Africa and other parts of the developing world? What about you?"

“I’m running to raise awareness of what a complete and utter spoofer your husband is and I’m going to do that by destroying him in the race. And afterwards he’s going to apologise to me for what he just said about rugby.”

I hear my voice crack. God, I love rugby.

He ends up going, "So what kind of training are you doing?"

I’m there, “Excuse me?”

“I’m running 10ks every morning and 5ks every evening. Have been for a year. My times are very good. I’m just saying, I’d hold off on making any bold predictions if I were you.”

That shuts me up. He’s got 12 months of hord training behind him. All I’ve really got is drugs. So I say nothing. But suddenly Honor storts making claims for me. “My dad is going to destroy you,” she goes. “And when he does, you’re going to shave off that ridiculous moustache.”

He laughs. He’s there, “Okay – that’s a deal. If Ross beats me, then I’ll shave it off.”

Ten minutes later, we pull up outside a gaff in the suburbs of Toronto. It’s hilarious. They’ve managed to find an area that looks exactly like Bray. What’s that old phrase? No matter where you go, there you are.

I’m grabbing our luggage out of the boot of the – hilarious – Kia when Honor suddenly appears at the back of the cor.

“Oh my God,” she goes, “please tell me you’re going to win.”

I tap the pocket of my chinos and I go, “Don’t worry, Honor. I’ve got a secret weapon.”

And then I suddenly freeze. Because that's the moment I realise that I've left my magic pills back in Ireland.