‘Are there not two Es at the stort of evil? It looks kind of weird with only one’

So it’s parent-teacher day at Honor’s school – the day of the year I hate more than possibly any other. As an optimist, I always go into it with a huge amount of hope, thinking, yeah, no, this is the year when I find out that Honor is a misunderstood child-genius.

Then I go home an hour later thinking, if my daughter avoids jail time in her teens, I’ll have done my bit as a father.

I tend to look for any crumb of comfort – like, for instance, this is the first time in about four years that we haven’t been advised to have legal representation present. And I actually thought that represented progress until I arrive at the school and see Miss Fetherston’s sad and deeply lined face. The woman has aged about 30 years in the 12 months since I saw her last.

She goes, “Your daughter is malevolent, belligerent and discourteous.”

Sorcha isn’t with me. She has some virus – a bad dose of the old Jolie-Pitts – so she told me to take detailed minutes of the meeting, which is what I’m actually doing, in the back of my famous Rugby Tactics Book.

“Give me those words again,” I go, “because one or two of them were absolute gobstoppers”.

Miss Fetherston just stares at me and it's Honor who ends up having to spell them out for me. She goes, "M, A, L, E, V, O, L, E, N, T. Malevolent… B, E, L, L, I, G, E, R, E, N, T. Belligerent… D, I, S, C, O, U, R, T, E, O, U, S. Discourteous."

Students in Honor’s school have had the right to be present when they’re being discussed at parent-teacher meetings ever since a constitutional challenge in 2014.

“And before that,” Honor goes, “it was E, V, I, L. Evil.”

Confused

I manage to get them all down on the page.

I’m like, “Is there not two Es at the stort of evil? It looks kind of weird with only one.”

Honor’s there, “No, it’s just E, V, I, L.”

“Well, I think I’m going to throw in a second one anyway. Not that I’m doubting your word. It’s just so I’m not confused when I’m reading it back to your mother. Yeah, no, it definitely looks random with one.”

"On the upside, no murders to report. I'm a glass-half-full kind of goy, Miss Fetherston."

Miss Fetherston loses the plot with me a little bit then. She goes, "I'm trying to tell you that your daughter is, by some considerable distance, the most unpleasant child it has ever been my misfortune to teach.

“She seems to take sadistic pleasure in seeing others, especially members of the teaching staff, in distress. She is never happy unless all around her is chaos.”

I’m there, “But she hasn’t killed anyone?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“On the upside, no murders to report. I’m a glass-half-full kind of goy, Miss Fetherston.”

It's actually a joke – to try to lighten the atmos. I stand up and I'm like, "Anyway, I'm going to head home and discuss your analysis with my wife. Thanks for your time."

Ten minutes later, we're in the cor, heading home to Honalee, when I turned around to Honor and I go, "Even though I sounded supportive of you back there, I want you to know, Honor, that I was a bit disappointed to hear some of those things she said about you."

It’s definitely tough-love time.

Honor goes, “Yeah, like your opinion matters a fock to me.”

I’m like “Possibly don’t swear at me, Honor. This is just me trying do the whole responsible parent routine.”

“I know – and you’re an actual hypocrite. I’ve seen your school reports. They were way worse than anything that woman said. At least I’m good academically.”

Obnoxious

“Don’t worry, I wrote down the good bits as well.”

"I'm just obnoxious. You were obnoxious and as thick as the focking desk."

“I was definitely thick.”

“You’re still thick. I actually overtook you intellectually when I was, like, four.”

“A lot of that is possibly down to rugby. They didn’t know concussion was bad for you in my day.”

It was like drinking 20 pints and blacking out – it was just a funny anecdote.

“Anyway,” she goes, “I’m bored with this conversation. Hand me your Loser’s Guide to Rugby.”

I’m like, “It’s actually called a Rugby Tactics Book. And you’re not getting it.”

“I want to rip out those things you wrote about me.”

"You were in a house in Ranelagh. Probably with another woman."

I laugh. I’m there, “That’s not happening, Honor. I told your mother I would give her a truthful account of what was said at the meeting and that’s what I’m planning to do.”

She goes silent for about 30 seconds, then she says the most incredible thing. She goes, "Where were you last night?"

I'm like, "What? Last night? I was in Kielys celebrating my five years of Facebook friendship with Devin Toner – even though he didn't show up himself, or even reply to my invitation, or even 'Like' our 'friendiversary' video that I shared on my timeline. But then Leinster are playing this weekend. I don't know why I thought he would show."

"You're a liar. You were in Ranelagh. "

“Excuse me?”

“You were in a house in Ranelagh. Probably with another woman.”

“I don’t know where you got that information.”

“I got that information from Where’s My F**king Phone, a remote tracking app that I downloaded on your mobile. I’ve been using it to monitor your movements since Christmas.”

“What?”

“I can tell you that six nights this year, you weren’t where you claimed to be. I really think I should show Mom this information.”

She wasn’t exaggerating when she said she overtook me intellectually when she was still a baby.

I end up having no choice but to hand over my Tactics Book to her. I’m like, “Careful, not to tear out my thoughts on Leinster versus Clermont, because they’re on the previous page.”

She rips out the two pages of notes, screws them up into a ball and focks them out the window.

“Now,” she goes, “ I’m going to write some new words into your book.”

Ten minutes later, I’m reading those very words to Sorcha. I’m there, “B, E, N, E, V, O, L, E, N, T… Benevolent, Sorcha!”

“Oh my God, that’s amazing,” she goes through the toilet door. “It sounds like our daughter has turned a definite corner.”