So – yeah, no – we’re at the recycling centre with a boot full of empty cans and bottles from a recent borbecue to celebrate Sorcha’s 43rd birthday and me having nine penalty points wiped from my driving licence on appeal. I’m dropping bottles into the giant glass bank and I’m getting major filthies from this random old dude who’s obviously judging us for our alcohol consumption.
“The fock are you looking at?” I end up having to go. “If you weren’t so old, I’d deck you, you judgy pri–”
And that’s when he goes, “Your children are drinking out of those bottles.”
I turn around and – yeah, no – Brian, Johnny and Leo are knocking back the dregs from the end of the various wine and spirit bottles. Yeah, no, they take after their Granny Fionnuala.
The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’
‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’
‘Sorcha, I’m wondering is climate justice maybe a bit above Santa’s pay grade?’
Sorcha goes, ‘I make no apologies for saying it, Honor. You are a danger to democracy’
I snatch an empty Hendrick’s bottle from Leo’s hands and I’m like, “Not until you’re 15, son – slash 14, let’s be realistic about it.”
The old dude shakes his head, then off he focks, muttering to himself, before Sorcha returns from the cor with the fifth and last crate of bottles.
She goes, “Oh my God, this does the soul good, doesn’t it, Ross?”
I’m there, “Does it?” because I can think of a thousand things I’d rather be doing right now.
She’s like, “Just the feeling that, by doing this, we’re helping the planet to, like, heal?”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I’m saying fair focks, Sorcha? Where’s Honor, by the way?”
“She’s outside,” she goes. “She doesn’t like the way these places smell. She says it gets into the fabric of her clothes.”
We put the last of the bottles into the glass bank, then we head back to the cor. Johnny and Leo look a bit unsteady on their feet and I’m wondering how much they’ve actually had in terms of, like, units.
That’s when Sorcha all of a sudden lets out a scream.
I’m there, “Look, it’s no biggie, Sorcha. They’ll sleep it off in the cor.”
But when I turn around, I notice that she’s staring at the wheels on the passenger side of her Subaru Forester, which are, like, both flat?
She’s like, “Ross, what the fock? What the actual–?”
I’m there, “I bet it was someone from Clongowes,” immediately suspecting a rugby motive. “Or Michael’s. Or Blackrock. Or Gonzaga. One of those dick schools anyway.”
She picks a piece of paper from underneath one of the windscreen wipers then and she’s like, “Oh my God!” as she gives it the old left to right. “Oh my – literally? – God!”
I’m there, “What is it?”
She’s like, “Ross, listen to this. Attention! Your gas guzzler kills! You’ll be angry, but don’t take it personally! It’s not you – it’s your cor! We did this because driving around urban areas in your massive vehicle has huge consequences for others who share this planet that we call Earth!”
I’m there, “Comic Sans?” checking it out over her shoulder. “The focking nerve of these people!”
She goes, “Cor companies try to convince us that we need massive cors! But SUVs and 4x4s are a disaster for our climate! SUVs are the second lorgest cause of the global rise in corbon dioxide emissions over the past decade – more than the entre aviation industry!”
I’m like, “That sounds made-up.”
She’s there, “The world is facing a climate emergency! According to the UN, millions of people are already dying from climate-related causes – drought, hurricanes, floods, forced migration, storvation! So far, the impacts on you have probably been minimal! We need emergency action to reduce emissions immediately! We are taking action into our own hands because our governments and politicians will not!”
I’m there, “We’ll have to ring the AA. Wait a minute, are we even in the AA?”
She goes, “Ross, this is the work of the SUV Avenger!”
I’m like, “Who?”
“Do you remember I told you that Mallorie Kennedy had the tyres of her BMW X7 slashed while she was having coffee with the girls in Gleego’s?”
“Er, not really, no.”
“And then Francesca Forristal, who was in college with me and who did her Erasmus year in Vilnius – the tyres of her Jeep Grand Cherokee were burst while she was doing hot yoga in Sandyford Industrial Estate.”
I actually got off with Francesca behind Sorcha’s back one night in Club 92, although I decide not to mention this piece of trivia.
Sorcha goes back to reading. She’s like, “That’s why we have taken this action! You will have no difficulty getting around without your gas guzzler, with walking, cycling and public transport!”
It’s at that exact moment that Honor shows her face. She’s like, “Oh my God, what happened?”
I’m there, “The apparently SUV Avenger did a job on your old dear’s cor.”
Sorcha hands her the letter.
I’m there, “Comic focking Sans, Honor. Where do these people get the ego?”
Sorcha whips out her phone. She’s like, “I’m calling the Gords.”
Honor’s like, “Er, why?”
“Er, because it’s vandalism?” Sorcha goes.
Honor’s there, “And what’s happening to the planet isn’t?”
“Honor, what these people have done is wrong.”
“They have a point, though. I mean, you drove, what, 10km in an all-terrain vehicle this morning to recycle some bottles, then you make speeches in the Seanad about how we need to stop eating meat and cull the national herd. You’re an actual hypocrite.”
“Honor–”
“I’m serious. You’re angry about four focking tyres. Where’s your anger about the melting polar ice cap? The disintegrating Great Barrier Reef? The floods in Pakistan?”
Sorcha thinks about this for a few seconds, then goes, “I’m ringing the Gords,” and off she focks with the phone clamped to her ear.
Honor is just, like, staring at Brian, Johnny and Leo. She’s there, “Oh my God, are the boys drunk?”
I’m like, “They’ve had a few alright. That was kind of interesting what you said there.”
She’s like, “Excuse me?”
I’m there, “Yeah, no, you said your old dear was angry about four tyres. Well, we only knew about the two on the passenger side. How did you know it was four?”
She shrugs and goes, “I just guessed.”
I’m there, “Oh my God, you’re the SUV Avenger, aren’t you?”
She goes, “That’s a big allegation to make. What proof do you have?”
I’m there, “Like I said, you knew it was all four tyres.”
She’s like, “That’s not proof.”
And I’m there, “There’s also that screwdriver that’s sticking out of your jacket pocket.”
