Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: Going through Honor’s Santa list must be what it’s like to go on Tonight with Vincent Browne

Tonight is the night we sit down as a family to write Honor's Santa List. It's like being mugged but without the violence. Although there's often shouting and tears – the shouting from Honor, the tears usually from me and her mother.

Sorcha already looks tense, sitting at the kitchen table with a brand new A4 pad and a pen in front of her. At the same time, she's trying to pretend she's not frightened?

I’m there, “I think we’re going to need a bigger pad!”

She flashes a tight smile at me and goes, “It might not be as bad as other years. I had a talk with her this morning about the refugee crisis and some of the other terrible things going on in the world. Oh my God, I genuinely think I got through to her, Ross!”

I’m like, “Yeah, no, I hope so. Shit, here she comes!”

I quickly sit down beside Sorcha and into the kitchen Honor walks. I'm, like, checking out her face, trying to work out what kind of humour she's in and if we're about to be ripped to shreds. This must be what it's like going on Tonight with Vincent Browne.

Honor sits down opposite us. She laughs. She’s like, “Oh my God, look at the two of you – what are you frightened of?”

I’m there, “The unknown, Honor. The unknown.”

She smiles and goes, "Well, don't worry, because this year is going to be a Christmas with a difference," and she holds up a single sheet of A4 paper that seems to have only, like, a few things on it? "What you said to me earlier, Mum, about giving being more important than receiving, it really hit home with me."

Sorcha goes, “I thought it did! I was telling your father!”

“So this year, I want you to make donations to the following causes . . . ”

So proud

Me and Sorcha are just staring at her with our mouths wide open.

She goes, “Er, can you write these down?”

It’s like watching a Vine of two gerbils high-fiving. I’m thinking, is this actually happening?

Sorcha picks up the pen and goes, “Yeah, no, of course, Honor, your father and I are just a bit . . . okay, go on.”

“Malaria kills 600,000 people every year,” she goes, “almost all of them in poor countries, and that’s a disgrace. There’s a charity called Malaria Cure Now! who are working to prevent the spread of the disease by distributing, free of charge, insecticide-treated bed nets. I want to give them €5,000.”

Sorcha puts her hand over her mouth, presumably to stop herself crying, then scribbles it down in her pad.

“Secondly,” Honor goes, “there’s an organisation called the Campaign for Humane Farming Worldwide. They’re working to eliminate the absolutely vile practices of rearing calves in dorkened crates to produce veal and force-feeding grain into the mouths of ducks to turn their livers into foie gras. I want to give them €5,000.”

Sorcha goes, "Honor, this is making me – oh my God – so proud."

"Stop talking and keep writing. What's happening in Calais is a blight on the soul of the world – I've heard you say that, Mum. So, I did some reading on the internet and there's a charity called the Calais School Project, which is a grassroots organisation that seeks to regularise the lives of displaced children by offering them full-time education. I want to give them €5,000."

Sorcha scribbles it down. “Do you know what the most amazing thing is?” she goes. “I have direct debits with two of these charities!”

Which, in layman's terms, means that I have direct debits with two of these charities.

Virtue signalling

Honor folds up the piece of paper.

I’m there, “Honor, this is amazing. I mean, I might quibble with you over the amounts.”

Sorcha goes, "You will not be quibbling with her over the amounts, Ross. Oh my God, this reminds me of the Christmas when I was a child and I told my dad that I wanted us to give our Christmas dinner to the poor."

Yeah, no, the tale of her and her old pair trying to force goose legs and parmesan roast potatoes on Dublin’s homeless is a Lalor family favourite.

Sorcha goes, "I am so, so proud of you, Honor! Without wishing to infringe your right to privacy, could I ask your permission to post this on Facebook? This list and – oh my God – this entire conversation?"

Honor shrugs. She’s there, “I don’t care.”

“And that’s not me virtue signalling. I just think this could be the stort of, like, a whole movement of young people who give up their Christmas presents to help those less fortunate than themselves.”

Honor’s suddenly looking at Sorcha like she thinks the woman is insane.

"Give up my Christmas presents?" she goes. "I'm not giving up my Christmas presents! This is in addition to my Christmas presents!"

I’m there, “I saw the list, Honor. There were only, like, three things on it.”

She goes, "Yeah, I emailed Mum my actual list? I didn't want to sit through another night like last year. I don't enjoy watching you cry."

“You said some hurtful things, Honor – especially about my rugby career.”

“You never had a rugby career.”

“Don’t – you’re going to stort me off again.”

Cheaper items

By this stage, Sorcha has opened Honor’s email attachment on her phone and she’s staring at it like it’s a letter announcing a Revenue audit.

“Honor,” she goes, “there must be, like, 80 things on this list.”

Honor’s like, “Correction – there’s 104. Some are small and some are big. And I don’t want you substituting any of them with cheaper items. I want exactly what’s on the list. Dad, repeat that back to me – you tend to zone out when you don’t like what you’re hearing.”

“You want exactly what’s on the list.”

“Exactly. I’ve also included the names of the shops where you can buy these items. Just follow the instructions and we can avoid a scene on Christmas morning. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, no, 108 things, though – how much is that going to cost us? We’re talking ballpork?”

And she goes, “Talk to your wife there. She’ll tell you the real meaning of Christmas. It’s about giving, whatever the cost.”