Trying to explain to Ronan that life is like a three-tiered cake plate, and that Blathin's old pair are not going to let her go out with him . . . it's bound to end in tears
The shell button. I'm like, "The what?" I swear to God, roysh, there's times when you'd need subtitles to understand this kid. "The shell button," he goes. "The shell button hotel." "Oh, the Shelbourne?" I go. "Wow! That's a bit . . ." and what I'm about to say, roysh, is that it's a bit upmorket for you, Ro, but I stop myself.
"Bit what?" he goes, taking a break from checking himself out in the mirror.
I'm like, "Exciting - that's what I was going to say. Meeting Blathin's old pair for the first time." I'm looking for an angle here, a way in, to let him know the Jack - these people are from Clonskeagh and Ronan's, well . . . not.
I'm like, "Are you nervous?" and he goes, "Nervous? What are you on about, you mad thing?" "Nothing," I go. "Here, don't overdo it on the Blue Stratos, though," and I whip the bottle off him before he manages to, like, suffocate the two of us.
"Taxi's here," Tina shouts up the stairs, except the way she says it, it's like, hee-ur.
Ro checks himself out one last time and - chip off the old block - seems to like what he sees, then the next thing the two of us are sitting in the back of a Jo, heading for town.
I'm like a dog with a bone, though. Can't leave it alone.
I'm there, "Life is a bit like afternoon tea, Ro. When that three-tiered plate arrives, you'll notice that some people will go for the cream cheese and smoked salmon, some for the egg and cress. Others might even go straight for the scones or the miniature eclairs . . ." He's looking at me, Scooby Dubious.
"What I'm saying is that people have, like, prejudices. They're into, like, one particular thing? And then when they come up against something they're not used to, their minds aren't open enough to realise that . . . egg and cress are pretty focking incredible as well, you know . . ."
"I'll hop out at the lights here," he tells the driver, at the top of Kildare Street, then he punches me on the top of the orm and tells me he'll bell me later. "The second it's over," I go, then I watch him disappear around the corner and I hate myself for not being able to explain to him how the world works.
"Let me out as well," I suddenly go.
Then I end up standing outside the hotel for, like, 10 minutes, wanting to go in, wanting to tell Bláithín's old pair what an amazing kid he is, even if it's not, like, immediately obvious? But I don't, roysh. Instead, I hit the Green and sit on a bench for an hour, then walk around and around, doing six or maybe seven actual circuits of the place, then I go back to the bench again. And all the time, I'm looking at my watch, then at the old Wolfe, wondering what's happening, when he's going to ring.
After, like, three hours, I decide I can't wait any longer.
He answers on the third ring. I'm like, "Ro, where are you?" He's there, "Back home." He's crying.
"What happened?" I go, actually making him say it.
"Bláithín's pardents . . . thee don't want me to see her anymore . . ." My fist suddenly tightens, just like it does when I hear the words "Terenure College". I want to, like, punch a tree or something. But I have to, like, try to stay calm, because Ronan isn't.
"I don't give a fook about anything anymore," he goes. "I need another spell inside." I'm like, "Hey, just keep the head, Dude." "I'm thinking of going back on the skag," he goes.
I'm like, "Ronan, you've never been on skag. You're 10."
"Well," he goes, "I'm capable of doing anything now. I'm a desperate man, Rosser." I'm there, "Leave it to me, Ro. I'm going to sort this," sounding like an actual father for possibly the first time in my life. But of course I haven't a clue what I'm going to do, even when I'm in Clonskeagh, standing outside the gaff.
I just take a breath, walk up to the door and ring the bell.
A woman answers but I'm too angry to even notice that she looks like an older version of Hayden Panettiere, even though she does.
"You must be Blathin's old dear," I go. "I'm . . ." but straight away she, like, cuts me off. She's there, "I know who you are and I know why you're here. But we've made our decision. We don't want Blathin to see Ronan . . ."
"Oh," I go, "because he's from the wrong side of the town? The side where people wear shirts with tracksuit bottoms, steal shopping trolleys from supermorket cor porks and drink tea with their dinner?"
"It's nothing to do with where he comes from," she goes and I'm there, "Oh, yeah, I'm sure it isn't," as in sarcastically?
"The reason we don't want Ronan to see our daughter anymore - is because of who his father is!"
That stops me, like, dead in my tracks.
She goes, "You don't remember me, do you?" I actually should - but I don't.
"You went out with my little sister," she goes, "and you broke her heart." I'm like, "Okay, that could be one of several hundred birds." She's there, "You cheated on her - with her best friend," and I'm like, "Again - doesn't exactly narrow it down." "Nessa Boyd," she goes.
Nessa Boyd. Name doesn't ring a bell but there's no doubt it's my MO.
Stick a confession in front of me and I'll sign it.
But the next thing, roysh, all of this stuff storts spilling out of my mouth. I don't know where it comes from but I'm suddenly jabbing my finger in the air, going, "My old man is a complete and utter dickhead - that doesn't necessarily mean I was going to turn out a dickhead as well. Okay, as it happens, I did. But my sins are my sins - not Ronan's. This kid, he's 10 times the person I am or will ever be. And you're never going to know that and I pity you for it . . ."
"Pity you," I go again, then I realise - and this is seriously bent - that I'm crying here.
All of a sudden, a door opens and Blathin's old man is in the hall. I can't help but notice that, looks-wise, Blathin's old dear is way out of his league. He must have some serious wedge.
"That was quite a speech," he goes, but he actually means it?
The two of them just, like, exchange looks, then Bláthín's old dear just nods and goes, "Okay - you're right." I think she's actually got tears in her eyes as well. See, I'm a bit of a wordsmith when the moment takes me.
"Do you want something to drink?" the goy goes and I'm like, "Thanks - but I've, er, got a taxi waiting."
TXT ROSS
Some dude who doesn't give his name goes, "Has no1 els noticd that on d mont clare hotel d L in public bar has been stolen, doesnt matter how many times i see it, still makes me laugh."
And who said the southside has no tourist attraction to match the Spire?
Some dude called Midge goes, "I'm up d sperrin mtns n havin diffclty comprehendin ur south-efacin patois. Wot is a cor? Is it a cute sheila from el paso (dundalk)?"
I didn't understand a single word of that. Does anyone here speak Northern Irish?
A bird calling herself Total Honey goes, "Hi ross just wondrin bout ur opinion on d whole size 0 thing. Is it hot?"
Absolutely - if bus stops with fake tan do it for you.
The Ralphmeister is there, "Is it just me or are bean gardaí getting better looking? Don't know what they're feeding them in Templemore but I'm going to give Rí Rá's another go on Saturday night."
Is it just me or do good-looking bean gardaí look like stripograms on their way to work?
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