So it’s, like, 11 o’clock on Sunday morning and I’m hord at work – albeit still in bed – making notes in my famous Rugby Tactics Book. Sorcha walks into the room and goes, “Get dressed, Ross. We’re going out for lunch.”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I’m working here?”
She goes, “Working?” like it’s the most random word that’s ever come out of my mouth.
I’m like, “Yes, working, Sorcha. Do I have to remind you that the Castlerock College first years are playing Blackrock College’s first years and it’s already being called the biggest grudge match that south Dublin has seen since my old dear and Mary Kennedy turned up at the Dalkey Lobster Festival in the same outfit.”
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Mary wore it better, by the way, and that’s not me being biased.
She goes, “Right,” like she doesn’t consider what I’m doing to be work at all. “Well, you can take an hour off to have lunch, Ross.”
I’m there, “Where are we even going?”
And she’s like, “Airfield.”
“In Dundrum? Er, are our children not borred from there? Remember Leo tried to waterboard Johnny in the smooth newt habitat three Easter Sundays ago?”
“The children aren’t coming, Ross.”
“What, so it’s just us?”
“Yes, it’s just us.”
“Is that not a bit weird?”
“A husband and wife having brunch? No, Ross, I don’t think that’s weird at all.”
“Whatever shuffles your truffles, babes.”
So – yeah, no – I end up just getting dressed.
Sorcha rolls her eyes when she sees me tipping down the stairs in my Castlerock jersey, but she decides not to say anything.
The restaurant ends up being rammers, but Sorcha has booked a table. We walk past the queue of people. One or two go, “Who the fock are they?” and I get a sudden flashback to my Renords days.
I suddenly spot them sitting at a table across the floor of the restaurant. Yeah, no, it’s, like, Christian and Lauren. And Christian – I can’t help but notice – is wearing a Blackrock College jersey.
I’m there, “You tricked me!”
She’s like, “It’s not a trick, Ross. It’s an intervention.”
Christian ends up being as pissed off as I am?
He’s looking at Lauren and he’s going, “I can’t believe you did this to me.”
But Sorcha goes, “You two have been best friends for, like, more than 30 years. You’re not going to fall out over a stupid rugby match.”
I let that slide.
I’m there, “He’s a Judas. I offered him a job as my assistant coach but he chose to coach Blackrock instead.”
Lauren goes, “There you go with the school rivalry thing again. You left school. A long, long time ago. You need to move on.”
I’m there, “You just don’t get it.”
Sorcha goes, “We totally get it? I went to Mount Anville and Lauren went to Alexandra College. But we’ve never let that get in the way of our friendship.”
And Lauren goes, “Exactly. Imagine if, 30 years after we left school, I kept bringing up the fact that Sorcha cheated to win the All Ireland Schools Debating Championship in 1997?”
Sorcha’s there, “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on, Sorcha, how many lines did you lift from your book of Nelson Mandela quotes? ‘I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.’”
“Yeah, it’s called unconscious plagiarism, Lauren. Look it up. It’s an actual thing.”
“‘To be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.’”
“Well, what about the so-called recycling programme you storted in transition year?”
“What about it?”
“Er, hello? everyone knew it was going straight into landfill. Your dad had it driven to Ballyogan.”
I’m there, “Good old Hennessy!” as much to break the tension as anything because they’re, like, shouting at this stage?
Lauren goes, “And what about your so-called win in the One-Act Play competition?”
Sorcha’s there, “What about it?”
“Yeah, your mum’s best friend was a judge?”
“Are you making a specific allegation, Lauren?”
“Yes, I am. It was fixed.”
“Well, what about your Leinster Schools Senior Hockey Cup winners medal?”
“What about it?”
“You know that ball didn’t cross the line, Lauren. Your admitted it to me when you were drunk at Olga Blackmore’s gender reveal porty.”
Christian goes, “Er, people are listening,” and he looks at me as if to say, “What are we going to do here?”
Lauren’s there, “What about the two thousand euro you claimed to have raised for homelessness by supposedly sleeping rough a week before Christmas?”
“What about it?”
“Everyone knows your dad put up the two grand. We went to College Green that night and there was no sign of you or any of your mates.”
I’m like, “Girls, maybe we should take this down an octave or two?”
“Speaking of octaves,” Sorcha goes, “what about the All Ireland School Orchestra competition?”
Lauren’s there, “What about it?” but she knows what’s coming.
Sorcha goes, “Oh my God, Lauren, everyone knows you used a backing track. And that was because they knew your violin playing wasn’t strong enough.”
Lauren’s like, “I could sue you for that. There’s witnesses here.”
Christian goes, “There wouldn’t be witnesses if you maybe kept your voices down?”
Sorcha gives Christian an absolute filthy and she’s like, “Who are you to tell me to keep my voice down, you complete and utter Judas?”
I actually laugh.
She’s there, “Sitting there in the Blackrock colours. I thought they were your sworn enemies.”
I’m like, “She has a point, Christian – in fairness to her.”
Lauren goes, “Don’t call my husband Judas. Your husband coached Pres Bray, can I just remind you?”
Sorcha stands up. She’s like, “Come on, Ross, we’re leaving.”
I’m there, “Can we not eat first?” because I’m storving and I have my eye on the ethically foraged mushrooms on sourdough toast.
Sorcha’s like, “No, I couldn’t sit for five more minutes with these people.”
Lauren goes, “These people? Christian, I want you to absolutely destroy Ross’s team.”
And Sorcha’s there, “Crush them into the ground, Ross. Show – oh my God – no mercy?”
