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“Yeah, since the first lockdown last year,” Garret goes, “I’ve gone back to the board.”
Sorcha goes, “The board?” actually encouraging him.
“He means his skateboard,” Claire from Bray of all places goes.
I end up laughing in the dude’s face.
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I'm like, "Skateboarding? Er, how old are you again?"
“Yeah,” he goes, “this coming from a man who wears sports shirts of teams he doesn’t actually play for.”
I'm there, "Is that a dig at my new Lions jersey? Because I won't even comment on what you're wearing."
Actually, fock it, I will. He’s wearing a tight, short-sleeved shirt, combat shorts and Vans. And – here’s the best bit – a moustache with the ends twisted upwards and black-framed glasses that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even need. In other words, he’s got one of those faces you could punch for a whole day and never tire of the novelty.
The only beer that Garret has in the fridge is a craft ale called Troubadour Blond, the ridiculous attention-seeker that he is
"Okay," Sorcha goes, "if we're going to spend a week together in a mobile home, we should at least try to get on with each other?"
I'm looking out the window at Brian, Johnny and Leo, who are rolling around in the mud, not a care in the world. Yeah, no, we're in, like, Ballycanew, by the way, where it's been pissing like a thousand horses since we arrived this morning. I need a drink – Jesus, I need a drink – but it's not the weather for outdoor pints, and the only beer that Garret has in the fridge is a craft ale called Troubadour Blond, the ridiculous attention-seeker that he is.
"Boarding," he goes, "is the only thing that's got me through the pandemic so far. I've been hanging out with this bunch of really cool guys who do their thing on the steps of the church on Bray Main Street. They're, like, young, but they actually remind me a lot of myself in that they hate, like, mainstream shit? They're content to just, like, be – if that makes sense? I introduced them to Rage Against the Machine and they were like, 'Whoa!' as in, like, minds... totally... blown!"
Sorcha smiles. She's a lot more easily taken in than I am. "One of the things I love about you two," she goes, "is that you're not afraid to, like, reinvent yourselves?"
“Speaking of which,” Claire from Bray of all places goes, “I’ve storted vaping – even though I’ve never actually smoked in my life! How random is that?”
He taught me all sorts of things – how to beat a breathalyser test, how to get your electricity for free, how to get out of the country without a passport...
Honor suddenly sidles up beside me. “I could burn the caravan down,” she whispers out of the side of her mouth.
And I know it's not what I'm supposed to say as a parent, but I end up going, "Okay, let me hear more."
She’s there, “Ronan showed me how to light a fire and make it look like an accident.”
“Is this the kind of thing he taught you all those times we let him babysit?”
“No, he taught me all sorts of things – how to beat a breathalyser test, how to get your electricity for free, how to get out of the country without a passport...”
Yeah, no, she absolutely adores her brother.
"Think about it," she goes. "We could be back in Killiney in, like, two hours."
But then something happens – a miracle that stops me having to ask my 13-year-old daughter to resort to basically orson to get us out of here.
“It’s stopped raining!” I shout. “It’s stopped literally raining!”
Sorcha’s like, “So?”
I’m there, “We can go for outdoor pints!”
“Garret has beer in the fridge,” Claire from Bray of all places goes. “Where’s it brewed again?”
He’s like, “Ghent.”
I’m there, “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” as I throw open the door of the mobile home. “Come on, let’s go.”
Anyway, 20 minutes later, we’re all sitting outside the local battle cruiser, including Brian, Johnny and Leo, who look like they’ve been dipped in chocolate.
A dude comes out and takes our order. I'm there, "Heineken – obviously."
But Garret goes, "What local craft beers do you have?" and he's lucky to escape with just a stony look in response. I'm thinking, I'd love to bring him into Flannery's in Limerick and watch him pull a stunt like that. The next time he saw those glasses would be on an MRI.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, we spend the next five hours sitting outside the pub. Claire from Bray of all places talks about how she's thinking of opening a second Wheat Bray Love in Greystones – "you can't have too many organic bakeries" – and how she's survived the past year painting grid compositions that a friends of hers who studied in actual IADT said are genuinely good.
Garret is talking about how he'd love to set up a pop-up record shop in Bray selling only vinyl – and that's when I get the smell of burning in my nostrils
And Garret talks about how he "literally, literally" can't relate to people when they stort talking about sport and how he's become totally obsessed with Berlin even though he's never been before and how he thinks the universe is telling him that his life is going to have a German Phase just like it had an Australia Phase, a Canada Phase and a Southeast Asia Phase.
“Are you okay?” Honor goes, because she sees me just grinning through this like a shot fox.
I'm there, "Yeah, no, I'm cool," which I am, because I'm drinking the old tolerance water and I'm sending Conor Murray ideas for his first speech as Lions captain.
“New phone, who dis?” he keeps texting back, which would be typical of the way we banter.
Anyway, the night eventually ends and we head back to the caravan. Garret is talking about how he’d love to set up a pop-up record shop in Bray selling only vinyl – “it’s needed” – and that’s when I get the smell of burning in my nostrils.
I hear a sudden scream from Claire. “Oh my God,” she goes, “the caravan is on fire!”
It’s the understatement of the century. The thing is blazing away like a mountain of gorse. Garret, Claire and Sorcha go running towards it while I turn around and look at Honor.
She goes, “Dad, it wasn’t me,” and of course I’ve no idea whether she’s telling the truth or not. “It must have been an accident.”
But then I suddenly remember something. “All your clothes were in there,” I go. “There’s no way you’d have burned them.”
But she’s like, “Actually, I never bothered unpacking. My suitcase is still in the cor.”