So I’m in the cor with Sorcha and we’re on the way to Clonskeagh to collect Brian, Johnny and Leo from school. Yeah, no, they’re finishing up today and we’re bringing them out for lunch to say fair focks to them for going another year without being expelled. Like most south Dublin parents, we set a very low bor for our children.
That’s when Sorcha – totally out of left field – goes, “Mom and Dad are going to meet us at the school.”
I’m like, “What? Are you shitting me?” and it’s like she’s said she’s taken up pole dancing lessons and set up an Only Fans account.
She goes, “Oh my God, why are shouting?”
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’m there, “Because I don’t want to see your parents.”
“You never want to see my parents. You hate them and they hate you.”
“Well, I especially don’t want to see them today – your old dear in particular.”
“Why don’t you want to see my mom?”
“Look, it’s private, okay? And random.”
“Ross, we’re, like, two minutes away from the school. Just tell me.”
“Fine,” I go, “I had a dream about the woman last night.”
Sorcha looks confused. She’s like, “A dream? What kind of dream?”
I’m there, “It was, you know, an erotic dream.”
She ends up nearly driving into a lamp-post on Roebuck Road.
She goes, “You had an erotic dream – about my mom?”
I’m there, “We can’t help what we dream about, Sorcha. What about you and Simon Harris during the first Covid lockdown?”
“That was different.”
“Different because it was you?”
“Different because I was on medication for back acne and vivid dreams were a side effect. What actually happened – between you and my mom?”
“Yeah, no, I don’t really feel comfortable going into details?”
“Oh my God, did you–?”
“Again, I’m going to plead the Fifth on that one.”
“Do you know how disgusting that is?”
“Sorcha, I don’t fancy your old dear, okay? I’m on the record as saying she has a face like a roofer’s knee and legs like the Bride’s Glen Viaduct.”
“You’re un-focking-real!”
“Anyway, my point is that I can’t face the woman – certainly not for a week or two. Or maybe even longer.”
“Well, tough shit, Ross, because you’re going to have to face her?”
Her old dear goes, ‘Oh! Oh my!’ and I can tell that, despite the shock, she’s a little bit flattered
She turns into the school grounds and – yeah, no – there they are – the Gruesome Twosome, as I call them.
I’m there, “You’re not going to say something, are you?”
But Sorcha just goes, “Seriously, Ross, of all the things you’ve ever done–”
I’m like, “I didn’t do anything!”
We get out of the cor and we tip over to the them. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Hates me with a passion and has from day one. Sorcha’s old dear gives her a big kiss on each cheek – it’s like, mwoi! mwoi! – and I go, “Don’t kiss me, by the way. Feeling a bit ropy. Could be Covid.”
The woman goes, “I had absolutely no intention of kissing you,” because we’ve never had that kind of relationship?
I’m there, “Good – just so we all know where we stand.”
Sorcha’s old man is like, “What’s wrong with him today? Why’s he blushing and looking down at his feet like that?”
Sorcha goes, “He had a dream last night – about Mom.”
I’m there, “For fock’s sake, Sorcha.”
“What kind of dream?” her old man goes.
Sorcha’s like, “An erotic dream.”
Her old dear goes, “Oh! Oh my!” and I can tell that, despite the shock, she’s a little bit flattered.
Sorcha’s old man goes, “You should have had him neutered years ago,” because he seems like the definite jealous type.
Her old dear goes, “What exactly happened in this dream?”
And I’m there, “Oh, you’d love a full account, wouldn’t you? Be a boost for the old ego.”
“I beg your pordon!”
“I’m saying don’t go losing the run of yourself. The Bride’s Glen Viaduct. I’m on the record as saying it.”
Sorcha goes, “I’m so sorry that this happened, Mom.”
I’m there, “Nothing happened! It was a dream! And if it’s any consolation, I nearly vomited when I woke up!”
“He’s got sex on the bloody brain,” Sorcha’s old man goes.
Sorcha’s like, “I am, like, so embarrassed!”
I’m there, “Embarrassed? They wouldn’t have even known about it if you’d kept your Von Trapp shut!”
Sorcha’s old man goes, ‘Well, good luck finding a new school for them between now and September’
All of a sudden, the bell rings and a minute or two later, all of the kids stort streaming out of the school, excited that it’s all over for another year and the summer is finally here. I spot Brian, Johnny and Leo walking towards us and I notice that Mr Schwarzenbeck – as in, like, the school principal – is with them?
Sorcha goes, “Oh my God, I hope they’re not in some kind of trouble.”
I’m there, “Well done, goys. Another year – you’ve proved the critics and the haters wrong,” and I let the three of them into the back of the cor.
Mr Schwarzenbeck goes, “Could I, em, have a word with you?”
Sorcha’s old dear goes, “Has something happened, Herbert?” because they’re old friends – it’s the only reason they got into the school.
“One of the boys – it was Leo – said something inappropriate to Ms Kremens on the hockey pitch. He called her Hot Stuff.”
I actually laugh. I’m there, “Yeah, no, he’s the romantic one.”
Sorcha goes, “Oh my God, I am so sorry!”
Her old man’s there, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”
I’m like, “Seriously? Am I the only one who thinks this is possibly an overreaction?”
Mr Schwarzenbeck goes, “We do not encourage the children to speak to the staff in this way. It is not appropriate.”
Sorcha turns on me then. She’s like, “Hot Stuff? That’s something he’s heard you say.”
[ ‘I want it gone, Ross. I want you to get it lasered off’Opens in new window ]
And maybe it’s because I’m suddenly getting all this hostility, but I end up going, “Well, maybe we’ll stop sending our kids to your school then – if you think that their behaviour is so inappropriate.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting Mr Schwarzenbeck to say, but his face suddenly bursts into a smile. He goes, “Okay, then! Gut!” and he turns and walks away.
Sorcha’s old dear storts going, “Herbert! Herbert!” because, like I said, they go back years. But the dude isn’t dumb enough to look back.
Sorcha’s old man goes, “Well, good luck finding a new school for them between now and September.”
“Oh my God, Ross,” Sorcha – not for the first time in our marriage – goes. “What have you done?”
