‘Seriously. I’d rather spend a night stapling my scrotum to my forehead than having dinner with you’

I’m so hungry, I’d eat my Dubes buttered. The old dear looks at me over the top of her menu and goes, “Whatever you want, Ross, it’s my treat.”

And I’m like, “Why does that even need saying?”

We’re only here because Wendy Wagoner, the PR bird who’s trying to help her win a People of the Year award, thinks it’s a good idea for her to be seen spending time socialising with her son.

“I was thinking of having maybe the foie gras,” I go.

The old dear’s like, “Yes, I was looking at that myself. I wonder is it ethical?”

“What?”

“I’m sure it would say it. If it was ethical.”

“What do you care about ethics? You’re one of the world’s most evil people.”

“Wendy says I must become more aware of the image I’m projecting. She says that asking the wait staff questions about how your food was produced is a good way of coming across as a caring person. How’s Sorcha?”

“Sorcha’s Sorcha.”

"You know, I thought of her the other day. I read somewhere that in the middle of the Pacific there's an island of plastic – bags, bottles and packaging, all discarded by us – and it's twice the size of Texas! "

“Don’t mention that to her if you see her. We’ll back to reading electric cor brochures by candlelight and composting our own faeces. Keep your big trap shut – genuinely.”

“And how’s, um...”

She means Honor, except she can’t remember her name – her only granddaughter.

“Melchizedek?” I go.

I watch her eyes narrow. She thinks that sounds about right. She’s like, “Yes, that’s it.”

"I've no idea. I don't know anyone calledMelchize- dek. I'm thinking of just having the burger here."

"The burger? Oh, that sounds very interesting. Let me see it."

She sticks her boat race in her menu again.

"They're very popular," she goes, "these burgers, aren't they? This one comes in a blaa, with roquefort sauce. I wonder is the beef pasture-raised?"

I’m like, “Pasture-raised? As opposed to?”

“As opposed to raised indoors. In a facility.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t go into deep background. It’s only a focking burger.”

She’s like, “But it’s the kind of question I’d like people to hear me asking,” and she storts looking over both shoulders for a passing waiter slash waitress.

“Forget it,” I go. “I’ll choose something else.”

She’s like, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I might just ask anyway. When they come around. This is nice, isn’t it, Ross?”

“No, it’s a nightmare. Seriously. I’d rather spend a night stapling my scrotum to my forehead than having dinner with you.”

She goes, “You’re my only son, after all,” and she sort of, like, sighs to herself, then takes a massive whack out of her Bombay gin. “I would have liked more children, you know. As a matter of fact, I had a pregnancy scare two years ago.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true.”

“One, you went through the menopause in the mid-1990s. And two, the last time anyone went near you in that way, rugby was still four points for a try and three for a conversion.”

“I’ve taken lovers, Ross. Since your father, I mean. I know you find that difficult to hear.”

“Whatever.”

"And, yes, I wasn't careful. Thinking – like you – that I didn't need to be. But then, of course, I was late."

“Seriously, this is veering into TMI territory.”

"And I thought, 'Oh, no! Pregnant? At my age?'"

“Sixty.”

“But then, like I said, it turned out to be just a scare.”

"If you were pregnant, believe me, it'd be medical science that got the real scare. I'm actually thinking of having the tuna loin here."

“Corriander and caper vinaigrette. Yes, it sounds fabulous. But will I tell you something interesting, Ross?”

“If you did, it’d be another first. Continue.”

"I was disappointed. When I found out I wasn't pregnant. Well, of course, I was relieved at first. The relationship I was involved in was aleady as good as over. And I was in my 40s!"

“You’re getting away with murder here. You’re lucky I’m in such cracking form.”

“I thought, ‘I couldn’t have looked after a baby!’ but then, once I thought that, I started to think, well, maybe I could have. And this awful sadness came over me. I started to think about how wonderful it would have been – you know – to get a second chance at being a mother, after making such a terrible job of it the first time around.”

"Okay, that is a good a point. You were a terrible mother. Actually, you still are, in fairness to you."

“Anyway, I thought, after a time, that those feelings would pass. You know, that I’d stop feeling sad about it. But they haven’t passed. I’m still... Oh, I’m trying to think of the word here.”

“Delusional?”

“Clucky.”

“Clucky?”

"Yes, clucky. As a matter of fact, I would say I'm desperate for another baby. And that's the reason I'm considering adoption. The tuna does look wonderful, doesn't it?"

"Whoa, back up the iPhone a minute. Adoption? Who's going to let you adopt? You're older than dirt."

“If you watched the news, Ross, you would know that there are terrible things happening in the world – hurricanes and earthquakes and many other awful, awful things. A lot of children are left orphaned...”

“You’re talking about a foreign adoption?”

“Like I said, it’s something I’m investigating. First thing every morning, I find myself switching on the news, wondering has something awful happened somewhere – almost hoping.”

“You’re unbelievable. You’re like an old, fat version of Madonna. This is more of it, isn’t it?”

“More of what?”

“You trying to win that award. You think that if you’re seen around town with a kid you’ve rescued from some, I don’t know, situation, people will automatically think you’re a good person.”

"I am a good person. I've done wonderful things in my life. But, as Wendy said, the problem with Fionnuala O'Carroll-Kelly is one of image projection. There's no point in being selfless if no one knows about it."

She’s suddenly smiling at a point just beyond my left shoulder. The waiter is obviously behind me. “We’re both interested in the tuna,” the old dear goes, at the top of her voice. “Do you know is it sustainably sourced?”

“I can find out,” the waiter goes.

“Yes, please do.”

“Yeah, no,” I go, “I’ve changed my mind. Can you bring me a steak?”

He’s like, “Of couse. What kind of steak would you like?” And I go, “The kind you drive into a vampire’s hort.”