Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘Oh, right – you’re one of these maskier-than-thou people’

I hear the van coming up the driveway – the crunch of gravel under tyres – and I practically run for the door.

Yeah, no, I haven't laid eyes on Janet since Sorcha reported her for not wearing a mask – or doing the whole two-metre distancing thing – when she's delivering packages to the gaff. Although the real issue, between ourselves, was Sorcha's jealousy at the friendship – very much banter-based – that had developed between us since the stort of the whole zombie apocalypse.

I'm there, 'My hort goes out to you, Janet – and I mean that very genuinely'

I watch her take a lorge box from the back of the van and I go, “That’ll be the Gianvito Rossi slingback pumps in nude that herself ordered. Although if you stick around for a few minutes, you can probably take them back. Slingback pumps always make her ankles look chunky.”

I wait for a response, except she doesn’t give me one, other than a quick nod and a, “Sign here, please”, which is what I end up doing?

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She hands me the package, then she turns her back on me.

“So,” I go, as she storts to walk away, “did you have any luck getting the price of your flights to Poland refunded?” because we’ve shared a lot on this doorstep over the past few months. “Or are they still being complete dicks about it?”

She just stares at me, then goes, "They're saying the flight wasn't actually cancelled. We just chose not to travel, even though it was on Government advice, which means we're not entitled a refund or even a voucher."

I’m there, “My hort goes out to you, Janet – and I mean that very genuinely.”

She just looks at me coldly, then pulls open the door of the van. She’s about to get in, but then she stops. There’s obviously something she wants to say to me.

“This is the last time you’ll be seeing me,” she goes.

I’m like, “What? What do you mean?”

“They’re taking me off the Killiney, Dalkey and parts of Glenageary route after today.”

“Oh? Did they, em, say why?”

Sorcha’s in the kitchen, on a Zoom call with her boss. I hear her go, “I’m just going to take a quick, five-minute comfort break”, but I know for a fact that it’s not for a slash – she wants to listen in.

"It turns out," Janet goes, "that someone made a complaint about me."

I’m like, “The focking nerve of these people!”

“They said I was ignoring the coronavirus safety protocols.”

“Have they nothing better to do? That’d be my question.”

“They said I wasn’t wearing a mask and I wasn’t maintaining the recommended social distance on the doorstep.”

“How are you supposed to hand a package to someone when they’re standing, like, two metres away?”

“I have literally no idea.”

“It makes no sense.”

“I’m supposed to leave it on the doorstep apparently, ring the bell and – I don’t know – hide behind a wall or something.”

“The whole thing’s gone too far. That’d be my view.”

“It’s unbelievable.”

"And did they, em, go into specifics in terms of who actually made the complaint?"

“No – but I’m going to find out.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t bother. Maybe you should let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Let sleeping dogs lie? They’re transferring me to the depot, Ross!”

“The depot? What’s the depot?”

"The parcel depot. It's on the other side of the city."

“Oh – that’s, em, a bummer.”

“Plus, I’m going to be working mostly nights now.”

“Nights? Jesus.”

“Midnight until eight in the morning. Which means I’m not going to see my kids before they go off to school every day.”

I’m hoping Sorcha is listening to this and feeling bad.

I’m like, “That’s, em, terrible, Janet.”

“Well,” she goes, “I’m going to find out who reported me if it’s the last thing I do.”

"Again, I think you'd be better off, hopefully, just moving on. If it's any consolation, I see my kids all the time and they're annoying. Very annoying, as a matter of fact."

“I’ve got a plan – to flush her out.”

“Her?”

“The person who reported me was a woman.”

“Okay, how do you know that for definite?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it was clearly some housewife who was jealous because I was spending too much time – in her view – chatting to her husband.”

I’m disappointed to find out there might be others.

I’m there, “Yeah, no, I think you’re well wide of the mork there, Janet.”

She goes, “You know the kind – insecure, frustrated, trapped in a sexless marriage.”

I suddenly hear the kitchen door fly open behind me. Then I hear Sorcha go, "I am not a housewife!"

Oh, fock.

She's like, "And I am not insecure."

She lets the sexless marriage thing go, by the way.

"I knew it!" Janet goes. "I knew it was you!"

Sorcha, from – yeah, no – two metres away, goes, “Yes, it was me! And I’d do exactly the same thing again!”

“You got me sacked from the job I loved!”

“You weren’t sacked! You were moved to other duties!”

“Working nights in the depot!”

“Well, that’s where you belong! At least you won’t be endangering the lives of innocent people by spreading your filthy germs!”

“Oh, right – you’re one of these maskier-than-thou people, are you?”

“Maskier-than-thou!” I go. “Great line!” even though I probably shouldn’t be taking sides here.

Sorcha goes, "When you spend half an hour standing on my doorstep, talking to my husband, with no mask and no effort to distance, you are putting everyone in my home at risk of – "

"My doorstep! My husband! Why don't you just admit that's what this is really about! You hate the fact that I get on so well with Ross!"

"That's not it," Sorcha goes. "The reason I reported you was because – Ross, where are you going?"

Yeah, no, I’ve slipped away from them and I’m heading for the kitchen.

I’m there, “I’m, er, going to leave you two to sort it out, Sorcha. Like you said, talking to strangers on the doorstep is dangerous. Who knows what I might catch?”