'The shopfitters were overrun pretty easily, proving no match for four former Mount Anville girls with placards and a cause'

The 'babes against Buckys' are the only thing standing between me and a sweet deal, writes Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

THE STORBUCKS COFFEE sign went up over the door of the old Dalkey Dispensary this week, but neither Sorcha nor any of her activist friends from Killiney and Dalkey Rich Kids Against Capitalism (and Oh! My God! Globalisation) were there to see it.

What basically happened was this. Monday morning, the workmen arrived to basically fit out the new shop. As soon as the door opened, Sorcha, Chloe, Sophie and Amie with an ie chorged in and announced that they were occupying the building as, like, a protest against the company's - and I quote - sociocultural crimes against humanity.

By the way, Geraldine has told me to, like, declare my interest here? Buckys may or may not be paying me twenty Ks to perform the official opening - Gordon D'Arcy hasn't given them a definite answer, though it sounds to me like he's messing them around.

As it happens, roysh, I was in Dalkey on Monday while all this was going down, in the Queens of all places, meeting one or two heads from the Storbucks Irish office, running my speech past them, making sure I was - what they call - corporately on-message.

It's pretty good shit, it has to be said: "Dalkey is no stranger to my ugly mug. I shattered a lot of girls' dreams out this direction in my time. And now, from one thing that's potentially bad for your hort but at the same time oddly addictive, to another - ladies and gentlemen, I give you Storbucks Coffee." "On the bright side," one of the goys goes to the other, right in front of my face, "Gordon D'Arcy hasn't actually said no." I'm about to tell him, roysh, that he's bang out of order when all of a sudden his phone rings and he's told about the situation developing a hundred yords up the road.

To cut a long story short, what happened was basically this. The shopfitters were overrun pretty easily, proving little or no match for four former Mount Anville girls with placards and a cause. Chloe handcuffed herself to the Black Apron Exclusives stand and announced that she wasn't moving until Storbucks provided a written guarantee that Dalkey's existing independent coffee houses would be, like, compensated for any consequent fall-off in trade.

Then - and again I'm only getting this second-hand - the shopfitters struck back. One of them produced a boltcutters from somewhere and chopped through not only the handcuffs but also Chloe's brand new Kara Ross cuff, which cost seven hundred yoyos but, according to the girls, made her orms look so thin.

Amid a hail of oh my Gods, Sorcha and the girls performed what any decent rugby coach would have called a strategic retreat. Then, once outside, they sat on the front step and announced that they were going on hunger strike, sending dozens of reporters in RTÉ diving for their cor keys.

After fifteen minutes of patient mediation by the local priest, the girls agreed to take onboard water - once it was San Pellegrino - popcorn and then, after more delicate negotiations, some caramel and stem ginger muffins provided by the management of Idlewilde.

It was just as they were finishing off the last of the humanitarian relief supplies - "how many points do you think were in that?" - that me and the two Buckys heads arrived on the scene.

We ended up taking a serious amount of flak when we walked past them into the shop, most of it aimed in my direction, it has to be said, with my soon to be ex-wife shouting at the top of her voice that I'm prostituting myself in the name of corporate profitism and one of the executives stopping to make the point that, no, at this moment in time, I'm still very much their Plan B.

It's like, thanks very much.

But I didn't become - in Gerry Thornley's view - the greatest Irish player never to play for Ireland by failing to spot an opportunity when it's put in front of me.

Five minutes later, we're in the shop and the two goys are storting to brick it. Sophie's shouting through the window that Samantha Libreri's on her way, which means the story's going to be all over Six One tonight.

The two goys are, like, pacing the floor. "We can't have this turning into a Shell situation," one of them's suddenly going. "Or the Hill of Tara. I mean, are these girls prepared to go to jail for their beliefs?" I actually laugh out loud at that.

I'm there, "I could have them off your doorstep in the time it takes to prepare a tall Americano with room." Their eyes go wide. "Honestly?" the other one goes.

I'm like, "Big time. But first, of course, you've got to do something for me. And you know what I'm talking about. D'Arcy doesn't need the moolah. He's already got Philips and Magee sewn up. I want the gig." They look at each other. They know a good deal when they see one. "Okay," they go, "it's yours." So I just walk calmly to the door. "Be careful," they go, but I know these girls only too well.

"Here he comes," Amie with an ie goes as soon as I walk out. "Howard Shultz's lapdog. Woof, woof!" They all crack their holes laughing.

I go, "Do you realise, if I called the Feds, you could be chorged with causing a breach of the peace," which I only know because it happened to me so many times in college.

Chloe's there, "So what? A fifty euro fine. You think that's going to stop our campaign for, like, justice and stuff?" "No," I go, "but it'll stop you getting into the States for that shopping trip to New York you're planning for the first week in December." They all look at each other - nervously, it has to be said. Sorcha is the first one to look over her shoulder. I'm there, "One thing the Septics really hate at the moment is people stirring the shit." "Well," Chloe goes, "I think we've made our point anyway," and then she storts slowly backing away, followed by Sorcha and Sophie, then Amie with an ie, who's the first to turn around and actually break into a sprint.

The Budweiser Clydesdales wouldn't have had the balls to stand in their way. I go back into the shop - see how they're getting on with that Americano.