Ro asked me if I’d go around to their gaff with him on St Stephen’s Day – or, as it’s known in that port of the world, Stephen Zuzz Day – for a Christmas leftbuffet
IN-LAWS ARE hord work. And I say that from painful experience. Sorcha’s old man has officially tried to kill me twice – once with his bare hands and once with a 19th-century letter opener that he outbid Derek Quinlan for at a charity auction to raise awareness for I can’t focking remember what.
The point I’m trying to make is that they’re a tough audience. But nothing – not the repeated threats down the phone, not the four-inch scor that he put in my left shoulder blade – could have prepared me for the experience of meeting Ronan’s girlfriend Shadden’s old pair.
Well, specifically her old man, who – you might remember – removed the wheels from my cor when I refused to pay him the standard 20 yoyo protection chorge for porking in Ballybough on the day of the All-Ireland football final.
Ro asked me if I’d go around to their gaff with him on St Stephen’s Day – or, as it’s known in that port of the world, Stephen Zuzz Day – for a Christmas leftbuffet. I was like, “Ro, forget it.”
He was there, “Mon, Rosser – mean a lot to me”, and of course there was no way in the world I was going to refuse him, not when he phrased it like that.
Which is how I ended up standing awkwardly in the Tuite family kitchen, drinking a bottle of Finkbrau and watching the mother corve slices off a turkey that was so big that, even after two days of eating it, it could probably have still got up and walked away, no hord feelings.
There was, like, 20 or 30 neighbours and friends in as well and they were all, like, staring at me, I couldn’t help but notice. I didn’t know why? They couldn’t have recognised me. Finglas wouldn’t be big-time rugby territory. I wondered was it because of the way I was dressed. Dubes and sailing jackets for some reason seem to anger a lot of people in that port of the world.
I was, like, leaning against the fridge when some random dude who I’d never met before sort of, like, sidled over to me and storted telling me about some soccer team he runs for ex-prisoners. I was like, “I can’t say I approve of soccer but I’m still going to say fair focks.”
Shadden’s old man arrived over then. “Apodogies again,” he went – he’s called Kenneth, by the way. “For the miswontherstanding, day of the Awdle Irelunt.”
I was there, “There was no misunderstanding. You took the wheels off my focking cor because I wouldn’t pay you basically protection money.”
“You got them b ... b... back, but, didn’t you?”
He’s got a terrible MC Hammer – that’s the other thing I should have mentioned.
“Three of them,” I went. “I don’t know where you got that fourth wheel – it certainly wasn’t from my focking cor.”
He was there, “Was it not?”
“Er, it was smaller than the others? Didn’t even touch the ground. Jesus Christ, I was driving around like Del Boy – three focking wheels.”
“I m... m... m... must check the yeerd for it so. See, we took a feer few wheels that day. The p... p.... p... peerking arowunt there does be teddible, so it does.”
I ended up just freaking it with him. “You don’t even live around there. You live in focking Finglas.”
“I’m B... B... Ballybough b... born and b... b... bred, but. Anyhow, meself and Dordeen, we don’t want there being addy bad feelings between us – know what I mean?”
“Not really, no.”
“For the sake of the kids and that. We’re veddy fond of Ronan.”
“Why wouldn’t you be? He’s a great kid.”
“He’s a f... f... fooken great kid, so he is. As I says to Dordeen tus morning – not telling you a woord of a lie – I’d b... b... b... bethor patch things up with that fedda – sure we mire end up being relared, wha?”
You can probably imagine how that went down with me. I felt like a focking Caviston’s lobster who just spotted my old man pointing at him.
I was there, “God, I hope not. Anyway, they’re way too young.”
“Veddy in love, but.”
“Love? He’s only, like, 14.”
“He bought her a ch... ch... chayen for Christmas.”
“A chain’s just a chain.”
Christmas presents for a girl he’s only been seeing, like, seven months. Proud as I am of Ronan, I sometimes wonder did the kid learn anything from me.
Some friend of Shadden’s old dear collared me then. She was like, “Cold, idn’t it?”
I was there, “It’s freezing. That’s why I’m wearing the old Henri Lloyd.”
“Wouldn’t like to be on the streets this Christmas, would you?”
“Er, no, not really.”
“Ine just saying it because I do run a hostel for the homeless. Been going this last tree year.”
I was like, “Er, cool,” not sure what I was supposed to be doing with this information.
Shadden’s old man handed me another can. He was like, “Do you know what D... D... Dordeen says to me when she sees the ch... chayen. Says she, ‘I think I’m going to be buying a hat before long’.”
A hat? Fock’s sake! I’m not being a snob here. But much as I like Shadden, I cannot end up related to these people.
I’m there, “I still think they’re very young to be getting serious. They’re still both kids. They’ve got, like, years of ahead of them. They’ve got school, then college, then – and this isn’t a dig at you or your family – work. They’re both going to meet a lot more people.”
“D... D... Don’t say that to Dordeen. She wants Shadden to be a teen berride.”
“A what?”
“She was a t... t... teen berride herself.”
No shit, I think.
“Has all sorts of fancy ideas,” he goes. “She says we mire even end up having the engagement peerty on the boat.”
I’m like, “What boat?”
“Your boat.”
“I don’t have a focking boat. Jesus Christ, it’s just a jacket and a pair of shoes I sometimes wear. What the fock is it with you people?”
Some dude – again, random – walked over to me with his hand outstretched, told me his name – immediately forgotten – and mentioned that he runs, like, a Ju Jitsu club that keeps a lot of kids off the streets and out of trouble.
The whole scene was, like, too weird, even for me, so I decided to make like the three shepherds in the Nativity story and get the flock out of there. That’s when I spotted Ronan grinning at me across the room. I knew he knew something.
I was like, “Ro, why the fock are people telling me their life stories like I give a shit?”
He went, “There’s a rumour arthur going round, Rosser, that you’re the Secret Millionaire.”
rossocarrollkelly/ie, twitter.com/rossock