Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘I’m there, “Pang, give me those cigarettes.” She goes, “Get away from me, you racist!”’

‘Okay,” Pang goes, “where the fock are we?”

I should tell her that’s not how an eight-year-old exchange student should be speaking to her host family, except I’m wondering the exact same thing.

Sorcha thought it’d be a good idea for her to see some of Ireland’s heritage and somehow we’ve ended up here.

“This is Kilmainham Gaol!” she goes.

It’s a genuine tumbleweed moment.

Pang goes, "Yeah, I can read the sign. I'm asking what actually is it?"

I’m there, “No one really knows for certain,” which was a holding answer I used to give whenever I was asked a difficult question at school. “Different people say different things. It’s kind of whatever you want it to be.”

Sorcha, who once helped Mount Anville to three consecutive victories in the Ides of March Classics Table Quiz, is only too happy to fill in the blanks in my knowledge of history slash trivia. "This was the prison where the leaders of the 1916 Easter Rising were executed," she goes. "They were, like, our Founding Fathers?"

Pang rolls her eyes and shakes her head and checks her phone and sighs in a bored way, all at the same time - multitasking for the modern child. “I need some air,” she goes. “The excitement is killing me.”

Off she wanders. Sorcha looks about as sad as I've ever seen her. "I wanted her to see something of our history," she goes, "just so she'd understand where we're coming from – as, like, a people? "

I'm there, "We should have taken her to Mountjoy Prison instead. At least my old man was actually in there. I could have shown her the spot where I used to throw footballs over the wall, stuffed with cans of tuna belly and Courvoisier miniatures."

That suddenly cheers her up. She laughs. I’m a catch – I don’t think anyone’s denying that.

I’m there, “I better go and check on Pang,” and I head outside to look for her.

I find her standing in what appears to be the prison yord, leaning up against the wall, talking to three or four boys – Irish ones, about her own age. She sees me coming and she goes, "That's him – the fat one in the green shirt!" and the boys look at me and laugh, like it's somehow a punchline?

What I happen to be wearing is the Ireland jersey that Johnny Sexton wore against Scotland in the 2010 Six Nations: a gift from the man Himself, even though – as the girl said – it's a slightly snugger fit on me than it was on Him.

There's something different about Pang that I can't immediately put my finger on?

I’m like, “So what’s going on here?”

She goes, “Nothing – we’re just talking.”

“Talking, huh? What part of Dublin are you guys from?” – I’m playing the protective southside father.

“Ongar,” one of them goes.

I just nod. I had no idea that Ongar was an actual place. Any time I see “Ongar” on the front of a bus, I just presume it’s Irish for “Out of Service”.

Oh, Jesus, I suddenly realize what’s different about Pang. I don’t know how I missed it, because it’s so obvious now. She’s got a cigarette in her mouth.

Obviously, I’m there, “Er, I wonder should you be smoking, Pang?”

She’s like, “Why shouldn’t I be smoking?”

“I don’t know – you’re eight years old and it looks kind of weird.”

“I don’t care how it looks.”

“Well, that’s just my view.”

“Well, keep your views to yourself.”

The other kids all laugh.

I’m there, “Pang, maybe you should put it out,” and I go to grab it from her.

She ends up having a total conniption fit, there on the spot. She’s like, “Get your focking hands off me!” at the top of her voice.

I’m there, “Pang, give me the cigarettes,” because I notice she has a whole pack in her hand.

“This is my culture,” she goes.

That suddenly throws me. I’m like, “What?”

She’s there, “All children in my country smoke.”

I'm like, "That doesn't sound true – is it true?"

“Yes, it’s true. And by trying to stop me smoking, you are a racist.”

Oh, no. I look around. I’m there, “I’m not a racist, Pang!” obviously whispering it.

She goes, “You are! You are racist! You are racist man!”

This is at, like, the top of her voice with a prison-yord full of people listening, a lot of them foreigners. So what can I do, except go, “Okay, just hurry up and smoke the end of that one, then follow me back inside.”

I walk off. And that’s when I get the tap on the shoulder.

It ends up being a woman who’s about my age – average looks-wise, because I know that’s what you’re wondering. “Is that your daughter?” she goes.

I’m like, “Does she look like my daughter?”

I’m guessing she’s a teacher.

She goes, “I’m asking are you in charge of her?”

“Supposably,” I go. “Slash supposedly. I can never remember which of those is an actual word.”

“Do you think it’s right that she’s smoking?”

“I asked her the exact same thing and she said it was her culture. I don’t want to be a racist.”

“How could it be racist to tell a child not to smoke?”

“I’ve no idea, but I’d rather not take the risk.”

“She’s playing you for a fool. If you don’t take those cigarettes from her this instant, I shall call the Guards.”

The woman is definitely a teacher. I try to stare her down, except she takes out her phone like she’s about to ring the Feds.

I’m like, “Okay, okay,” and then I shake my head and wander back over to where Pang is standing, showing the boys how to blow smoke rings.

I’m there, “Pang, give me those cigarettes.”

She goes, “Get away from me, you racist!”

I end up actually shouting at the girl. I’m like, “Racist or not, I’m telling you to put that actual cigarette out – now!”

She knows I’m not messing around here. She looks me straight in the eye, then she takes the cigarette and she stubs it out . . . on the crest of my rugby jersey.

She’s like, “There! Satisfied?”

ILLUSTRATION: ALAN CLARKE