Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘Women, these days, want more. I say let them have it. I’m just not sure I’m the man to give it to them’

The female mind is a complicated thing. There’s no point in even trying to understand it. You might as well ask why it gets bright in the morning and dork at night. The answer is no one knows – it’s just one of those things we have to accept.

I'm thinking about this while I'm on my date with the famous Sunneva. I say date, except it's not a date at all. My wife is using me as live bait to find out if the girl would be prepared to cheat on Cillian. I think the fact that she agreed to meet me here tonight is evidence that she would. But Sorcha still hasn't come bursting through the doors with Cillian as promised, so I'm having to keep up the pretence that I'm, like, interested in the girl?

“You have beautiful eyes,” I go. It’s one of my stock chat-up lines. I’ve loads more like it. Hair. Legs. Teeth. Hands. The list is endless.

Sunneva is one of those girls who can’t take a compliment, though.

She’s like, “Why are you looking past me when you say that?”

She has a look over her shoulder, then she laughs – and not in a good way either. “You’re watching the rugby?” she goes.

I can't help it if Connacht versus Edinburgh is on the TV.

"Connacht are really struggling this season," I go. "I think Leinster should move in while they're weak and pick off their best assets. As my old man says, that's how it works in business."

She just shakes her head. “What a waste of an evening,” she goes.

That actually hurts.

I’m there, “Okay, what’s your issue?”

“My issue is you,” she goes. “You’ve spent the entire time since I arrived telling me I’ve a beautiful nose or a beautiful forehead, then you steer the conversation back to rugby again.”

“Hey, it can’t be all compliments, Babes. Rugby is important to me.”

“And this is your idea of a date, is it?”

“Er, yeah?”

Sorcha fell in love with me after three or four nights like this. Although that was back in the 1990s. Women, these days, want more. I say let them have it. I’m just not sure I’m the man to give it to them. There’s, like, 60 seconds of uncomfortable silence then before I go, “I’d still regord Pat Lam as one of the best coaches out there. I’d love to have him as port of the Leinster set-up.”

That ends up being the last straw. Sunneva stands up to leave. Bear in mind, I’ve literally no interest in this girl, but it still comes as a bit of a blow to the old ego. We’re only 15 minutes into the date. Plus it’s Sunneva’s round and I’m saying that as an equality fanatic.

“You’re actually more boring than Cillian,” she goes, “and I didn’t think that was even possible.”

And suddenly she stops. Because she's spotted him – her supposed fiancée, bear in mind – standing just a few feet away. He's pretty shocked, it has to be said, to see me sitting in Kielys of Donnybrook Town, having a drink with his intended. Sorcha's standing beside him. She squeezes his foreorm, just to let him know that she's there for him.

He goes, “What’s going on here?”

Hilarious. And I thought I was slow?

Sunneva’s like, “What, are you spying on me now?” going straight on the offensive. You’d have to admire her for it. I must try it next time Sorcha catches me cheating on her.

Cillian goes, “You told me you were going out with the girls from work.”

And she’s there, “You told me you were having a quiet night in.”

“Sorcha called around,” he goes, “and persuaded me to go for a drink.”

He turns on me then? He's there, "What the hell are doing here with my fiancé?"

I decide it’s time to put everyone straight, including Sunneva. “Dude,” I go, “the entire thing was a set-up. I’ve literally no interest in the girl. Sorcha asked me to crack onto her to see would she be prepared to cheat on you.”

Sorcha goes, “I don’t think she’s right for you, Cillian.”

Sunneva turns on Sorcha then. If looks could kill, I'd be ringing the Herald right now with my wife's death notice. "Oh," she goes, "and you're an expert on what's right for Cillian, are you?"

Sorcha actually fronts up to her. You don’t captain the Mount Anville debating team for three years in a row without being passionate about pointless arguments. “You’re horrible to him,” she goes. “You speak to him like he’s dirt. I’m saying he deserves better.”

Sunneva goes, “Oh, I get it,” again with the bitter laughter. “You’re still in love with him.”

Sorcha’s there, “I’m not still in love with him. I care about him, that’s all.”

“Well,” Sunneva goes, “you’re welcome to him. You obviously have a thing for boring men,” and she makes a point of looking at me. What’s that famous expression? Hell hath no fury like a something, something, something?

“I’m going home. Cillian, you can come over tomorrow to collect your stuff. I’m keeping the ring, though.”

Then off she jolly well focks. I like her style. Nothing else about her, though. But I do like her style.

When she’s gone, Cillian turns around to Sorcha. Far from being upset with her for destroying his potential marriage, he goes, “Is it true, Sorcha? Are you still in love with me?”

Sorcha’s like, “No, Cillian. I did what I did because I didn’t want to see you making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“You care that much, though. You must have some feelings for me.”

I can tell from the stupid look on his face that Cillian is once again hopelessly in love with my wife. So I end up doing what any red-blooded male would do in the exact same situation. I order a pint of the golden wonder and I find a quiet corner of the bor to watch the rugby.