‘Sneaking around behind my wife’s back is something I’m very, very good at, in fairness to me’

‘Sneaking around behind my wife’s back is something I’m very, very good at, in fairness to me’

Listen | 05:33

“If we do this,” she goes, “my husband can’t find out about it. Under any circumstances?”

We’re sitting in her cor in – yeah, no – the hotel cor pork.

I’m there, “Well, I would have thought that went without saying. And obviously, I don’t want my wife to find out about it either. She’d go literally ballistic.”

“Good,” she goes, nodding slowly. “So we’re in agreement then. We have to keep it quiet, which means being uber, uber discreet.”

Honor is only running for Mount Anville head girl to downgrade her old dear’s greatest life achievement

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‘There’s a video of me doing the rounds on this famous Tick Tocks dot com’

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‘You should be ashamed of yourselves! We’re old enough to be your parents and we’ve taken you to three sets!’

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‘If you play that match, Ross, our marriage is over’

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I’m there, “Hey, I’m not proud of this, but sneaking around behind Sorcha’s back is something I’m very, very good at, in fairness to me.”

She goes, “So where does she think you are right now?”

I’m there, “I told her I was half-thinking of taking up a coaching role with the Wanderers thirds and I was going to check out their facilities.”

She’s like, “Right.”

I’m there, “What about your husband? Where does he think you are?”

“I told him that I was going wild swimming,” she goes.

I’m there, “Jesus, be careful with that.”

She’s like, “What?”

I’m there, “It’s just that going wild swimming is a – I think it’s a word? – euphemism for having an affair.”

“I didn’t know that,” she goes. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

I’m there, “Like I said, I’m an old hand at it. Doing a triathlon also means having an affair?”

“Again,” she goes, “this is all new to me”.

She’s like, ‘Let’s see how we get on first. We might not be any good together. We might not be compatible in that way?’

I’m there, “Stick with me. I know the terrain. I suppose we should go into the hotel. Did you make the booking?”

She’s like, “I did. I used the name Mrs and Mrs Steggles.”

I’m there, “Why Steggles?”

“It was my mum’s maiden name,” she goes. “Easy to remember.”

I’m there, “Steggles. I have to admit, it’s already growing on me.”

“Come on,” she goes, “are we doing this or not?” and she opens the cor door.

We both get out and we grab our bags from the boot, then we head for the hotel. She stops, just as we reach the front door.

She goes, “I want you to know that I love my husband.”

I’m there, “Fair fock.”

She’s like, “I love my husband very much. It’s just that there are some areas in which he’s – I feel guilty for saying this – but deficient?”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, same. Sorcha’s an unbelievable wife and mother, but she can’t satisfy all of my needs – this one especially.”

She goes, “As long as we’ve got that straight. There’s going to be no romantic entanglements.”

I’m like, “Hey, I’m after one thing here and one thing only. Wait a minute, what are our first names?”

She goes, “I didn’t come up with first names.”

I’m there, “Well, if this is going to become a thing, we should maybe come up with first names as well?”

She’s like, “Let’s see how we get on first. We might not be any good together. We might not be compatible in that way?”

“Oh, I think we will be,” I go. “I’ve always liked the name Gregor. And Gregor Steggles has a definite ring to it.”

She’s like, “Fine – I’ll be Susan Steggles.”

I’m there, “Gregor and Susan Steggles. I love it.”

Into the hotel we go. We give them our fake names, then grab our padel rackets and head for the court.

Réaltín – I mean, Susan – stands on one side of the net and I stand on the other. She goes, “Bradan has this idea that sport should be enjoyable.”

I’m there, “What a loser. No disrespect, because – yeah, no – Sorcha’s the exact same. You heard her the last day. ‘It’s only a bit of fun,’ were her exact words.”

She’s like, “Sport is not enjoyable, I told Bradan. Winning is enjoyable.”

I’m there, “You’re preaching to the choir, Réaltín slash Susan. You’re preaching to the choir.”

‘Sorry,’ I go, totally out of breath. ‘That’s never happened to me before’

She goes, “Are you ready?” and I nod.

She serves and the ball comes at me hord.

I’m there, “Eeuugghh!!” grunting loudly as I send it back to her.

She lets it bounce off the back wall, then she goes, “Eeuugghh!!” and she returns it to me.

I’m like, “Eeuugghh!!”

And she’s there, “Eeuugghh!!”

And I go, “Eeuugghh!!”

And she’s like, “Eeuugghh!!”

Then I stort giving myself little shouts of encouragement as I return her shots.

I’m there, “Yes!”

Then she’s like, “Yes!”

I’m there, “Yes!”

And she’s like, “Yes!” and it continues like this for a good, like, 15 minutes, the two of us just sending the ball backwards and forwards to each other and it feels absolutely incredible.

She’s there, “Yes!”

And I’m like, “Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Oh, that’s good!”

“Yes!”

“I like that!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“That’s so good!”

“Come on!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

We keep going at it until our muscles are aching and the sweat is absolutely blinding us.

I’m like, “Yes!”

She’s there, “Yes!”

Until I attempt a groundstroke and my knee all of a sudden locks. I hit the deck.

“Sorry,” I go, totally out of breath. “That’s never happened to me before.”

She’s there, “It’s fine,” being surprisingly understanding. “I need a cigarette. Do you want one?”

I’m like, “Yeah, no, I don’t smoke.”

She leans against the wall of the court, takes a long drag and goes, “How was that for you?”

I’m there, “It was absolutely fantastic.”

She goes, “You’re pretty good at it.”

I’m there, “I don’t want to come across as big-headed, but this is my arena.”

She goes, “So will we make this a thing?”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, let’s definitely.”

She’s like, “Will you be my portner?”

I’m there, “I’d be honoured.”

“But no one can find out,” she goes.

And I’m there, “No one will.”

[ Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: I wake up on Sunday morning thinking, am I having one of my famous erotic dreams? ]

[ Sorcha is like me before every Ireland squad announcement – in other words, focking delusional ]